


Otherworldly

by uhright



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Budding Love, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cultural Differences, Cunnilingus, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Language Barrier, Lyrium Withdrawal, Modern Girl in Thedas, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining/Yearning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Self-Pity, Sporadic Updating, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Trust Issues, World Travel, because that's the whole fic, but did i mention, spirit hugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 91,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4548957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhright/pseuds/uhright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a lake. Then you wake up in a world unknown, with an indiscernible language, a spirit to help you, and people that refuse to trust your intentions. Then you blow up Haven and make it to Skyhold and the Mark starts spreading. Corypheus sets your world in his sights. A commander refuses to leave your thoughts. </p><p>Sigh. Just another day in the life of an Otherworlder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Defying Reality

Contrary to popular belief, the last few moments of life are incredibly peaceful.  

With the realization that you didn’t have to suffer any more, you felt a weight of incredible proportions wrestled from your shoulders. All of the memories of your living years came flooding back all at once—the memories of your family, friends, past lovers, good times, bad times… that unspeakable time you ran over your best friend’s cat…

And through all of that, you almost didn’t realize that you were dying. 

Not until your eyelids drifted to a close and the breath was expelled from your lungs under whatever the hell it was pressing against your chest like a ton of bricks. 

You panicked, struggled against an already-there tug against your body that was dragging you toward the bottom of the lake. Your body felt as if it was being ripped in-two, your skin felt as if it was burning off your bones _._  You screamed, but before you could try and struggle away yet again, 

…everything went hot white behind your eyelids as the pain became overwhelming, and you didn't realize at that moment that your world was about to turn upside down.  

* * *

 Your world had turned upside down. 

There were two things you realized: 

1: Under nothing but an uncomfortably scratchy blanket, you were naked.

2: There were voices that you could hear, but no language that you could understand. There were probably words _somewhere_ in there, but it all sounded like  _yorvakd dorue djfivole perive aq qhghuio vbdjka_ to you. 

You panicked, opening your eyes and recoiling away from hands that were touching you. 

And suddenly you wished you hadn't done anything, because now you had to face the reality of your situation that, well, didn't seem like a reality at all. 

The man above you paused and... wait, no. That... that wasn't a man. His ears were... and his huge eyes... the thinness of his hands against one of yours.  

"What _are_ you...?" you muttered incredulously, suddenly realizing how overwhelmingly rudeyou sounded. 

He simply stared at you with a questioning, curious look in his eye, as if a horn had just grown out of your forehead. 

"Jorven aoeiru fen alro?" he asked, and you shook your head, staring up at him with a furrowed brow and a frown.

He called someone over, and you couldn’t help the barking, disbelieving laugh that erupted from your chest at the sight of some medieval-looking woman with short hair and some deep scars adorning her face. Well, she was pretty, you had to give her that.

“Okay, what in the _hell_ is going on? This isn’t funny anymore,” your voice had slowly risen with each word that was spoken, panic completely overwhelming your tone.

She sauntered over, muttered something to the… _elf_ , and wrenched your hand away from your body.

“Aroeni torqa.” The glare that she gave you was so full of malice and hatred that you visibly withered.

 _Ow._ You hissed in pain as her hand tightened around your wrist, yanking even harder and causing you to fall forward on your forearm that wasn’t preoccupied.

You hurried to cover yourself after your robe had fallen open from her rough handling.

She reached for the strikingly-real sword sheathed on her hip, and your blood froze in your veins, heart pumping feverishly in your ears, and you suddenly, shamefully started pleading for your life.

“Please. Please, I—I don’t know anything. I’m sorry. Just, please, please, don’t kill me.” Your voice came out in a whimper as your eyes clenched shut, waiting for a death that never came.

It was at that moment you realized that this was real.

“( _Name)_ ,” a light voice said, so far away you could barely discern what it said to you. “( _Name)_ , _it’s okay_. _Don’t be afraid._ ”

You rolled your eyes up to meet the woman’s hard gaze, suddenly realizing you were crying when tears wet your barely-there clothing.

“Kenentah alro gored.”

She stepped back into the shadows and you were left with the _elf_ , whose too-large eyes were staring at you with that same innocent curiosity on his face.

He pointed to himself: “Solas.”

He pointed to the woman barely visible in the dark: “Cassandra.”

You pointed to yourself, hyper-aware of the gash on your palm that leaked a green smoke and sent an explosion of pain up your arm, through your shoulder, and down your spine, so painful that it took your breath and made tears spring to your eyes. But you steeled yourself: “(Name). I guess you understand that I have no idea what you’re saying, huh?” You cocked your head at him with a disconcerted frown. “I’m lost. I have no idea where I am, and I’m terrified.”

And you were. You could feel the muscles under your skin lock up to the point of hurting. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Fear seeped deep into your bones so strongly they actually started to ache. Your long-buried anxiety had risen to the surface yet again, squeezing your chest in a vice-like grip. A wave of nausea chose to rack your body, wet your eyes and made your mouth water.

Solas reeled back as you hunched over, chest convulsing in dry heaves, eventually emptying the contents of your stomach.

“Eugh!” you yelled, spitting out the disgusting taste in your mouth. It tasted like chalky cough medicine, so drying and sickening that you had no choice but to gag again. You screwed your face up in a scowl, desperately wiping your tongue against the scratchy material of your robe. “What in the fuck is that stuff?!”

A glass vial was pressed to your lips and you immediately turned away, not ready to experience the horrible flavor again.

“ _They want you to drink. It will help you heal faster,_ ” that faraway voice spoke yet again and, against your better judgement, you felt you had no choice but to comply.

You tilted your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as the liquid was poured into your gaping mouth. This concoction tasted minty, and you smacked your lips together to get used to the texture of it.

“ _A healing potion. The last one they gave you is in a puddle on the ground_.”

“Why do I need—“

“ _Burns all_ _over, scars on places you let no one see, a darkness swallowing you whole, waiting, watching, wanting…!_ ”

“Stop—“ You placed your hands over your ears, denying the voice any further intrusion into the deep recesses of your mind.

“ _No… Please, let me in. Let me in… I’m trying to help! I don’t want you to hurt. I could feel it, barely, under the brightness that shields you—shields your pain. But your pain is stronger. Let me help…_ ”

A strangled cry escaped your throat as the same electrifying pain in your hand flared again, multiplying tenfold. The pain became so severe that your body shut down.

* * *

A voice woke you up, still speaking the language with no words you could understand, frustrating you to no utter end.

 _Maybe if I just don’t open my eyes,_ you thought to yourself, perfectly content with laying there in what felt like actual clothing, yet still feeling the scratching of your robe against the skin of your arms and legs.

They had given you simple undergarments, thank god. A thin tank and equally thin (what you could only describe as) leggings reaching just under your knees, both in the same material as your robe. Obviously made for the poorer people in town.

You were hauled up under the direction of some girl Solas had whispered to you as _Leliana._

The words Cassandra said sounded like nothing but strange sound. Nothing except another name could be understood. Justinia, you recalled? 

And from the way they had been glaring at you the whole time, through your lapses of consciousness, you seemed to be connected to her somehow.

Did they think that was your name? Were you being pegged as someone else?

And frankly, none of the options you thought up, whether being _connected_ to her or being _mistaken_ for her, bode well for you.

You had to rely on Cassandra to help you walk, being too weak to do much of anything besides think. As you stumbled to the pace of her steps, you realized that everything hurt, most notably your skin. It burned under the fabric rubbing roughly against it—your stomach, arms, thighs, back burned, as if you had been lying in a fireplace for three whole days. You winced when she shifted the arm slung across her shoulders, moving to wrap one of hers around your back and mutter angrily under her breath, and you wearily tilted your head up to look at her, hyper-aware of the height difference the two of you shared.

She was all muscle yet shapely like a woman, even through her armor (that you now realized was one hundred percent real). The tanned skin of her face was screwed up into an overall scowl.

“Berqi nowt bnsjkls gjiojgdl…” Cassandra’s voice had slowly faded into gibberish as you saw it for the first time.

“Holy _fucking shit_ ,” you breathed, taking in a vast nature scene that you didn't recognize in the slightest.

You could feel it. The air was different, digging at your skin as if it knew you weren’t supposed to be there. The overwhelming scent of smoke and iron and burning flesh and you gagged, pressed a palm to your mouth. The death. It was nothing like what you had experienced at your world, even with the bodies piling on the streets of New York, your friends among them.

 _No._ You refused to think about it. Because nothing prepared you for this.

Almost on cue, the pain in your hand flared yet again. The gash lit up a bright green, and if it wasn’t the pain that brought you to your knees, the blinding color shining in your face would’ve.

Cassandra joined you on the ground, bending down onto one knee. She pointed to the gaping green hole in the sky, then pointed to your hand, her words unable to be translated, yet the distraught tone of her voice shed new light to what she was saying.

You were… connected to that thing in the sky. It was a part of you now. It would explain why both your hand and that thing were glowing green.

Maybe it was that thing that brought you here.

Maybe it was that thing that could bring you back home.

You pulled yourself to your feet and started walking, albeit shakily, in front of Cassandra. Her hand lightly fisted the hood of your robe, ready to yank you back should you do anything crazy.

Then you turned around, nearly running into her as you suddenly stopped in your tracks. You pointed to the hole in the sky then to yourself. “I need to get to that thing before I die.”

You looked at her expectantly, and she simply narrowed her eyes at you and tugged you by the arm to walk beside her. You had to skip between strides to keep her from ripping your arm off.

* * *

You had just fought demons. Tumbled from a rickety stone bridge and had to fight _demons_. Then you had to close what that voice in your head said was called a rift, and it hurt. But you didn’t know how to fight. Even with the War happening in your world, you had never been taught how to throw punches or shoot a gun or handle—what you had strapped to your back at the moment—a bow. In your word, you had always been a runner, gathering supplies when necessary and warning the others in your group whenever danger neared them. Other than that? No combat experience whatsoever.

If it weren’t for saintly Cassandra, you would not have been standing there, being yelled at by a man Cassandra had called Roderick. He had a title in there somewhere. Chancellor, was it? At least _that_ word was the same in both of your languages.

You turned around to throw a confused look at Solas, who simply stood there, staff perched a few inches away from his back by… oh dear god… magic _._ You had seen it. Ice and fire and electricity shooting from the glowing orb wedged between wooden claws at the tip of said staff. It was so _crazy_.

He caught your eye and gave a slight shake of his head in warning, as if to say, ‘Please keep your mouth shut.’

You turned back to the Chancellor, who was currently arguing with a perturbed Cassandra, and you subconsciously took a step back. It shocked you, yet it didn’t at the same time, at how terrified you were in this new world. How your self-confidence had completely drained and withered to nothing in your ever-constricting chest.

Cassandra then shook you, produced a piece of parchment and what looked to be a pen, and began sketching out a plan.

She drew a church or something at the top of the paper, a mountain on the lower right-hand side, and a group of poorly-drawn soldiers (points for the swords and shields, Cassandra) on the lower left.

Soldiers meant protection.

Protection meant you could _survive_ this.

You quickly pointed to the soldiers, tapping the parchment with more force than necessary. She looked at you, looked to Leliana who, to your knowledge, had suddenly appeared in your field of vision, then said something to everyone. You shut them out by that point. What was the purpose in listening to something and/or someone you couldn’t understand?

* * *

In the battle, Cassandra did most of your fighting. You had no idea why or what you were battling, and a fear dawned on you. How were you to learn their language if you were being held as a prisoner? Would they kill you after all this and just be done with it?

" _No. They need you. You are a guiding light to this world in darkness. Leading, loving, rising above who you used to be. How could you not see him from the beginning?"_ Cole rambled inside your head.

* * *

You had been given actual clothing _._ Like, the kind of clothing in which you had to take measurements, made of some comfortable cloth that didn’t feel like someone had molded sandpaper into a top and pants. You felt like you weren’t a dirt pile walking. Smelled of lavender body wash instead of sweat and dirt and the tangy iron scent of blood, and your hair wasn’t matted down by your own filth anymore. You actually felt like a person for the first time since you had arrived in this strange world.

Were you dead? In some kind of limbo where everyone went after their souls left their bodies?

You slowly sat up, feeling the muscles in your arms ache in over-exertion. A letter crumpled under your palm, and you lifted it up with a curious lilt of your eyebrow.

 _I guess everyone got the memo_ , you thought as you quickly unfolded the letter.

The artistic skills were… less than average, you had to admit, but the image of you standing before a huge monster with a sword in hand made you chuckle. And the name at the bottom— _Varric_ —made it even more endearing.

“You’re a hero to the people of Haven.” The voice was so close to your ear you swatted your hand and shifted to your other side, falling onto your elbow on the bed. “No, it’s okay. Don’t be afraid. You can’t see me. I’m here, but you can’t see me.”

“Why?” you inquired, eyes flickering warily around the small hut.

“I haven’t allowed you to,” the voice simply said.

Hearing it up close, you were sure it was a male voice that had been speaking.

“Who are you…?”

“I can’t answer that. Must go. You have a guest. We’ll talk later.”

And the eyes that you felt digging into you were gone just as a knock on your door resounded within the small confines of your house. You wouldn’t allow this to become your home. You had a home that you needed to get back to as soon as possible before your world fell apart. Had to see your friends one last time.

The door swung open and in walked an elf carrying a crate full of supplies. It looked like a bunch of plants where you were sitting. She blanched, said a practiced monologue you still didn’t understand, then sat the crate down on a table and fell to her knees, arms outstretched before her.

She seemed to be begging. To you. Pleading for something.

_Oh no._


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You reflect on your advisors, match a name to a voice, and kinda sorta learn a new language... Barely.

The first time you met—what the voice in your head said were—your advisors, there was a certain shellshock that accompanied your wonder-filled admiration.

Everyone in Thedas was so intimidating and tall _._ It seemed to be a recurring theme with every person you met, and it frankly scared the hell out of you. The hardiness of the people here could outmatch the strongest people back home easily.

Spymaster Leliana was by far the scariest. Seriously, though: an army of _spies_ at her disposal? And you assumed that she only accepted the very best in the business because damn, that woman did not play around. You truly hoped she saw you as being wholly on her side, because you really didn’t want to face her wrath.

Commander Rutherford controlled an army, yet his boy-next-door attitude and good looks made it hard to take him seriously. He had very nice hair, you had to give him that. As far as his personality? Well, you were really never able to talk to him. He was always busy out by the front gates of Haven, watching his soldiers and yelling at them to correct their forms, and you were always too afraid to approach him.

Ambassador Montilyet, with her clipboard constantly glued to her arm, was the least threatening, especially with the choice in colors for her outfit. You had talked— _ahem,_ motioned _—_ to her a few times, and she seemed very down-to-Earth. 

Ugh. You still didn’t know what to do with yourself when it came to figures of speech. It was all so confusing. Your jokes didn’t even sound _funny_ anymore.

“ _I’m always listening to your jokes,_ ” the voice in your head spoke.

… Well.

You rolled over in your bed and pulled your covers up to your chin. _When will you tell me what you are?_

“ _Would it help you?_ ”

_Of course it would! I always need a friend._

The atmosphere in your hut suddenly shifted, and a cold enveloped your being. You quickly sat up and came nose-to-nose with a young man, his presence wholly ethereal _,_ if his… transparency was anything to go by.

When you extended a curious hand and planned to reach through his body, he pulled back with a quiet, “Please don’t do that.”

You drooped your shoulders and shot him an apologetic smile.

“So, you’re, what, a ghost?”

He shook his head, disturbing the blond hair covering his eyes.

“No. In this world, we’re called spirits.”

“Oh,” you muttered, casting your gaze down to where he sat on your bed, mattress not dipping down like it should, covers strangely smooth under his weight. “So, why have you been helping me these past few days?”

He cocked his head and deep blue eyes shown as he looked at you.

“You needed help. You called out to me… when you were in the Fade. Do you not remember?”

“No,” you confessed, “but, how do you know English?”

“I guess… the Fade gave me the tools I needed to help you.” He shook his head. “You’re so scared, stuck in a place where you can understand nothing, where nobody can understand you. Your ignorance is like two large stones attached to your ankles, dragging you under the water. You try to struggle, to understand what you can… Then I come along and pull you up, helping. Hopefully. Am I?”

You tossed your head back and forth, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead where a sudden ache had come into play. His hand lingered an inch away from your bicep, as if he were afraid to touch you.

“I remember… the lake,“ you lurched forward off the bed, turning the spirit’s body to wisps of vapor, and you muttered an apology to him as you slipped on your boots. “That’s it! The lake!”

The memory of how you had gotten to this world was _right there_ , so close. You could brush it with just the tips of your fingers, yet couldn’t grasp it like you needed to. You had to understand how it happened, but you didn’t even know what happened in the first place. Yeah, that was first on your agenda: figure out what happened to get (Name) stuck in a different world.

“You can’t go out there! It’s too cold!” A large palm reached out and grabbed your wrist, and the juxtaposition between his cold, _cold_ skin and your warm body heat made you flinch. He instantly pulled away.

“Is… is Lady Montilyet up?”

“Maybe. She’s very lonely, anyway. She could use the company.”

“Well, that’s good because I need to talk to her. She’s really the only advisor I’ve gotten to speak with since this whole thing started.”

Ah, yes. It had been two days since the Inquisition had been resurrected from the ashes. It was confusing to you how Cassandra hadn’t declared herself leader. She had the strength to lead, and God knew it needed someone. The groups back home that didn’t have a person to finalize decisions had quickly died out, mainly from killing each other. It was sad, really. And frankly, you didn’t want that to happen to the Inquisition. Your advisors had put so many efforts into making sure it grew—not using your name but that stupid _Herald_ title instead, but hearty efforts nonetheless.

“Accompany me?” You raised a quizzical brow to the spirit lingering at your side, throwing him a smile. “I could use a translator.”

“I’ll be here, you just won’t be able to see me. I'll be in your head. I’m Cole, by the way.”

You nodded in understanding at his explanation and threw open the door to your house, marveling at the sheer arctic chill of the evening air. It wasn’t even nighttime yet.

You threw an acknowledging arm up at a small group of soldiers that were heading down to the barracks, some of their eyes lingering longer than necessary. Commander Rutherford, who was trailing behind them, snapped something, and they quickly averted their gazes straight ahead. He started to advance your way, but a hand on his shoulder made him stop in his tracks, and he was given a clipboard to look at. You passed by him with a light-hearted smile, but he just followed you with those boyish eyes of his, head still tilted down toward the orders he had to sign.

_Jesus Christ, (Name). You found a good world to land in. There’s no shortage of eye candy._

“ _What is ‘eye candy’?”_ Cole suddenly asked, his spirit brushing against your arm.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older, Cole,” you muttered to him, hoping that nobody could see or hear you talking to yourself.

You and spirit-form Cole made your way up the path to the Chantry where Josephine was usually attached to her chair and desk (when her arm wasn’t glued to her clipboard with the weird candle stick stuck to it). The door to Josephine’s office was shut, yet a faint glow of candle light was seeping under the crack. You rapped on the wood with your knuckles and she yelled something in her smooth accent.

“ _She said you can come in_ ,” Cole informed you.

Not wanting to barge in on her all at once, you opened the door just enough to stick your head in and greet her with a, “Hello.”

She immediately looked up and gave a breath of surprise before motioning for you to come in.

Passing a piece of parchment and pen to you, she looked at you expectantly as you began to draw a lake surrounded by trees and a snowy path. You racked your brain for the limited words you knew in their language, attempting to remember the word you had used the most. Oh, right. _Cyfnerth_. You hastily scribbled it below your drawing and spun the paper around to face your advisor, watching as her face grew confused, brows drawing harsh lines across her forehead and between both brows.

“Brofner tut eorns rony?” she inquired, and you turned your head a fraction to listen to the helping voice of your new friend Cole.

Why they kept talking to you in their language when they _clearly_ knew you had no idea what they were saying bugged you to no end, and it was a question you had asked yourself for days now.

“ _She’s asking why you need help_ ,” Cole reminded you, his chill suddenly pressing into your back.

You then caught her gaze and saw the ever-expectant look in her eyes, but you simply shrugged your shoulders.

She pursed her lips then, pink contrasting well against her dark skin, and looked down at the parchment.

“Grol a tor, Herald. Numthik al jzi tan ho.”

_What’s she saying now?_

“ _For you to get to bed. Your lessons start tomorrow_ ,” Cole piped up beside you as you lowered your head in goodbye.

_Wait a second—what lessons?_

_“The advisors have been planning to give you lessons on Thedas, and more importantly the language, for a few days now. It won’t be that hard, (Name).”_  

* * *

The lessons were more difficult than Cole had originally assured them to be. Learning a completely new language was extremely difficult, given there was no foothold for you to start on. You had no idea what each word translated to in English, and neither did anyone else. So, your _object_ -based language lessons consisted of Lady Montilyet pointing to random things around Haven and naming them off in her language, to which you would write down the corresponding words in both their language and English.

For example: Lady Montilyet would point to a barrel just sitting around and say “gasgen,” to which you would write _barrel = gasgen._

It was even harder to work out how to explain actions during your _action_ -based lessons, but it was hilarious to watch your ambassador mime the word “sprint,” so you guessed it wasn’t all that bad.

Then there were lessons on the different tenses, possession, and many different parts of their language you hadn’t gotten to yet.

Cole told you that once you had gotten a certain understanding of their language, your advisors would then start on history to get you caught up on the various cultures, wars (a large sum of the lessons, you noticed), important historical figures, and many, many other things that you didn’t even know about your _own_ world.

There were urgent matters you knew had to be tended to, but until you gathered a brief knowledge of this strange world, you were left to yourself in your hut in Haven, with nobody but Cole to talk to. It was sad, now that you thought about it. You had been isolated because nobody knew what you were, and you had no ability to explain to them to ease their ever-growing stresses. The more people that heard about your… mysterious background, the more your advisors chose to confine you within the walls of Haven.

It hurt, a lot, being cast out like you were. But you knew that they were only doing it for your own safety. Above everything else, you were the person they cared most about. After all, nobody else could save their world from the gaping hole in the sky. 

* * *

After three months, your advisors thought it best for you (and them) to start teaching you things besides language. Poor Josephine had been working herself to death to get your language skills caught up in time to meet with Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands. They finally debriefed you on your mission, which consisted of closing the big green gash in the sky that apparently opened when you crossed through the Rift where this Divine Justinia had been killed in an explosion. And everyone suspected it was your fault after you collapsed at a nearby lake and they found the Mark. It made your head spin.

You finally started calling the once-Lady-Montilyet Josephine. Once you understood the word “hate,” she confessed to you how much she hated you calling her _Lady Montilyet_.

So, there you sat, against all odds, in Haven’s war room with a weird accent as you spoke the essentials of a language you’re surprised you could even learn in the first place.

“Umm… how do you say, _this is stupid as hell_ in Common?” you muttered to Josephine as you sat on the war table, not realizing you were crinkling the map under your thighs.

“Off the table, please,” Commander Cullen chided as he sat down a pile of books—courtesy of Solas— next to you. “It’s very _torno_ , Herald.”

“What was… uhhhh, last word?” you questioned, sliding off the wood and onto your feet, planting your palms on the table behind you. “I did not catch it.”

“You poor thing. We may have to have more lessons with how _not_ understandable your accent is. Maybe we should—“ Josephine had gotten used to using… simple words around you so you could understand. She was an angel.

“If the Herald is to catch Mother Giselle, we must start _now_ , Josephine,” Cullen stated matter-of-factly, flicking through pages of the book on the top of the stack.

You, however, were not too happy about more language teachings. Sure, your vocabulary and pronunciation needed some work, and that incomprehensible accent had to go, but you were doing well given the circumstances. At least, you thought so.

But with your newfound knowledge, you had noticed Cole growing away from you. It was as if he could tell he wasn’t as needed as before. It became harder and harder to reach out and talk to him than it had been when you couldn’t understand anything. But the fact that he was hurt crushed you—and he was, dear God he _was. Y_ ou could feel it, especially in your house. The hurt hung like a rainy cloud in that place, and you hated being in there. Because, in some weird way, his pain hurt _you_.

Maybe that’s why you stayed away. Maybe he was forcing you to so he didn’t harm you. After all, wasn’t his whole thing as a spirit about helping people?

“Herald!” You rolled your eyes up to meet sun-sweet gold. The Commander didn’t look so much like the boy-next-door as you previously thought. 

“Yes, I am sorry.” You shook your head and broke your gaze, casting a sideways glance to Josephine, who wasn’t there anymore.

He huffed, a weary sound, and you twisted your lips into a frown, recalling the seemingly permanent dark circles under his eyes. Did that man ever sleep?

“Did you hear what I was saying, Herald?” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose between a gloved thumb and forefinger.

“No. I apologize. Are… are you well, Commander?” You made to touch his fur-covered shoulder with a palm, but he side-stepped your advances, clearing his throat.

“I’ll—I’ll just repeat what I said. Herald,” he started, not able to meet your eyes burning into the side of his face, “please _rej_ _ferfori_ this time. We have to ready you for Mother Giselle.”

“Cullen, you’re…” you paused, searching for the correct word under countless words with meanings you had forgotten, “jumbling me.”

The way he regarded you with an amused grin and a lilted brow caused your self-confidence in your speech skills to wither.

“Maybe we _should_ keep the language lessons with Josephine,” he declared, chuckling under his breath.

You scowled playfully up at him. “ _Asshole…”_


	3. Braving the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You learn to fight and survive the Hinterlands.

_You hated fighting._ That’s why you were always the runner back in New York. You loathed the death that accompanied violence during the gang wars that went on—a strange parallel to the Mage vs. Templar dynamic you were now becoming familiar with—and despite your previous living conditions, you had never killed someone. But you had been there when trade-offs had gone bad and the older, more experienced people in your group were forced to murder. You didn’t want to have to resort to that, even though this world had its fair share of homicidal enemies.

So, after deciding that your bare-minimum speech would have to do, Josephine decided to invest in some rogue trainers to help you with your non-existent fighting skills. Yes. Carrying that accidentally-found bow on your first day meant that _you were destined to be a rogue!_

* * *

“At least keep the bow, even if you will not use it, Herald," Josephine said, motioning to the bow-and-arrow set wrapped neatly upon her pristine desk.

“I will not use _any_ weapon, and you cannot make me,” you retorted, voice rising to a higher level than you had intended.

“If I need to get Cassandra or the Commander in here, I will.” You whipped your head around and found Leliana leaning against the doorway to Josephine’s office. “You need to understand the dangers of going into a fight empty-handed.”

“I know, I know: it’s either me or them—“

“And we cannot afford to choose _them_ , your Grace,” Josephine reminded you with a sigh, looking up from the papers she was currently signing.

You let your gaze fall to the floor, and you crossed your arms. “I know. I know you are just doing this for my sake, and I… um… I cannot think of the—“

“Appreciate?”

“Respect?”

You narrowed your eyes at them, balancing your gaze between two smug faces. “Both, I guess. I appreciate your efforts, but I do not wish to fight.”

A booming laugh sounded outside of Josephine’s office, and an Inquisition soldier popped his head in. “Maker watch over you, then—oh, it’s you, Herald. I-I apologize for my _recgon_.” He bowed deeply and walked back into the hall of the Chantry.

You could barely understand him because of his accent. _Is that what you sounded like?_

“Yes, Herald. It’s almost impossible to understand you.” Leliana cast a dark glance to Josephine, who simply shrugged at her friend’s implied criticism.

Oh, you had spoken aloud.

You shivered. That was a look you did _not_ want aimed at you.

“That matter is one we will pick up after the Herald comes back from the Hinterlands,” Josephine declared over the sounds of her pen scraping over parchment.

“If the Herald can even be trusted to get there and back in one piece,” Leliana added, turning to fully face you and stare into the depths of your troubled soul. “You _need_ to train. Starting now.” But the tone of her voice explicitly said: _pick up that fucking bow or I swear to the Maker I will kill you myself._

“ _Yes,_ _ma’am_!” In your haste to escape her deadly glare, you grabbed the bow-and-arrow set and bowed to her before running from the Chantry and into the arms of your trainer. You hadn’t even noticed you spoke to her in English, which had been previously instructed for you to never do.

You found it odd that, although you were the Herald, and thus the technical leader of this movement, you were being bossed around by three people who were more than capable of leading, themselves. 

“I think we may need a new language tutor, Josie,” Leliana said to the Ambassador, eyes narrowed at the woman. “Our current one seems to be too distracted.”

“What? She’s pretty!”

* * *

One thing Josephine didn’t tell you about your trainer was that he was one of Leliana’s spies. You were going to eventually have to fight a man that, not only was twice your size, but also looked well-versed in the dual blades he reached you.

“Waitwaitwait… You are not going to make me fight with—“

During your inspection of the weapons held in your hands, he had produced two of his own and lunged at you with them. You hurriedly side-stepped his advance, but not before one grazed your jaw.

“Hey! I wasn’t—“

Before you could start yelling at him, a cloth was pressed to your jaw where the blood had started to well in tiny droplets.

“You are going to be a _poyik_.” He yanked your wrist up to where your fingers pressed against the fabric, and you replaced his large hand with yours. “Just do as I say, and you’ll make it back in one piece. ‘Ight, kid?”

“It is Herald,” you hissed with a scowl.

“I’m your trainer, and I’m in charge of you, so I say you’re called _Kid_.”

 _The fuckin’ nerve of this guy_ , you thought, turning away from him to roll your eyes.

* * *

There was one thing your trainer _, Orson Bourhis_ , was right about: you were ready for the Hinterlands.

He had worked your ass off during the two weeks’ time he had been allotted to ready you, and he wasn’t one to mess around with. He was an asshole, but holy hell he was funny. Sarcasm had no problem transporting between worlds, it seemed.

During those two weeks, he had given you basic training in lockpicking, trap-making, and he used your bow for all that poor thing was worth. After the first week you had to put the poor thing away and buy a new one before the original was forced to wither under his intense training sessions.

He made body parts hurt that you didn’t even know existed, and afterwards he always said, “That’s how I know I’m doing my job, Kid.”

Even as you ambled along Haven’s pathway to meet with your advisors before you ventured out later that day, you could feel the tug in your legs and shoulders at the intense workouts he had provided the day before.

"From what Orson's reports have read, I take it you're ready to venture into the Hinterlands?" Leliana asked as you approached them inside the war room.

"Whether she's ready or not, we can wait no longer," the Commander added, his cool gaze calculating as his eyes inspected you. You subconsciously cowered away from him.

Josephine dramatically sniffled as she wiped a non-existent tear from her eye. "They grow up so fast."

“Well, Herald,” Leliana started, waiting for her to catch your attention; you turned to look at her. “Do you know what you’re supposed to do once you get to the Hinterlands?”

You simply shrugged. “Find Mother Giselle.”

“ _And_ look for ways to spread the Inquisition’s influence,” Josephine added, holding the tip of her pen up to her cheek.

“Got it,” you assured her with a quick nod of your head.

“And please, Herald. Don’t speak any English. The people already think you’re strange enough.”

You smiled sheepishly at them. “Sorry. Native language and all…”

“Just refrain from dying,” Cullen interjected, keeping his gaze trained on his papers. “That is a report I don’t think any of us would enjoy receiving.”

“I do not plan on dying soon, Commander,” you announced, words creating a steadfast promise you weren’t sure you could keep.

Deep down, there was tremendous room for doubt as to just how prepared you were to traverse into the wild expanse of land ourside of Haven. You had lived in the city your whole life, so you knew nothing else but tall buildings and overwhelming amounts of people, juxtapose the dense woods and wild animals you were sure to encounter.

The mighty Herald of Andraste might have been mauled by a Great Bear or something, which was not a way you wanted to kick the bucket. That was too anti-climactic for a Chosen One such as yourself. 

* * *

The Hinterlands was a bunch of bullshit. After roughly two weeks on horseback, you eventually got used to the _agonizing_ pain lodged in your lower back, butt, and legs. Horseback riding was not the fun that everyone back home had made it out to be. It hurt, and horses smelled awful. Not to mention you were pretty sure your horse had it out for you. After a particular incident in which you were on your knees packing up supplies and your horse—Demon, you decided to call him— _accidentally_ stepped on both of your feet on his way to a lake nearby, you were positive that the little shit just wanted you to suffer.

You didn’t realize how much knowledge you had actually soaked up from your training with Orson until you fought and killed the rogue mages and Templars currently wreaking havoc amongst the Hinterlands.

The fact of the matter was that, the more people you killed, the easier it became to forget they had families and close friends and possibly significant others that would be devastated once they found out their loved one was dead. It became easier mentally, of course. Every time your personal body count rose higher and higher, your steadily increasing nausea would never die down, no matter what your empty stomach argued.

So, that’s how you came to the situation you were currently in. After finding a family of apostate mages living in hiding in the dense woods, their house becoming invisible behind the thick smoke of fire and burned-alive bodies turning to ash and alighting the air with the faint aroma of _chicken_. You were so disgusted at yourself that you threw up your freshly-eaten lunch. Varric had made an exclamation of disgust, but quickly moved to comfort you.

* * *

You sat in your tent that night, running your fingers over the shallow cuts along your arms and legs, acquired by your enemies and various Hinterland terrain that you found yourself tripping over and falling off of.

… In your defense, you _were_ from the city.

You sighed, running your fingers through lake-washed hair. You missed Cole. He had been missing since you left for the Hinterlands, and it was odd to find your thoughts not being sifted through all the time, his cold presence not with you when you felt so lonely you could’ve had the devil himself as company if it meant quelling your increasingly anxious thoughts.

But, apparently Cole thought he wasn’t needed anymore. Maybe he had other people to tend to, because you didn’t know how the whole spirit thing worked. Maybe he had another client he was visiting while he was waiting for you to need him again.

After all, _you_ were waiting for you to need him again.

Yes, you had made friends amongst your present companions, and most of the spies and soldiers were quite wonderful to talk to. Even Orson could make entertaining conversation. And, maybe, just maybe, that was the problem. When you walked through a rift into a different world, you knew no one until you met Cole. However, once you started befriending people after learning their language, you didn’t need Cole anymore. You were able to make friends other than him.

The thing was: at that moment, you couldn’t have felt more alone.

* * *

“Herald! How was—“

“I am going home.”

“Well, you should probably—“

“I do not want anything. Not hungry.”

“Have you went to the—“

“The healer said I was okay. So, I am  _going home_.”

To say you had seen enough of Thedas was an understatement. Between the mage/Templar bullshit, demons attacking you around every corner, and the incessant pain in your hand after closing so many rifts, you just wanted to be back in the warring streets of New York with your closest friends by your side, not some stupid fantasy world where you could trust no one because _everything wanted to kill you_.

“Herald, maybe you should—“

“Leave. Me. _Alone_!”

The energy of your outburst caused the Mark to flare up, and in a flash of green light, everything within a ten foot radius of you was knocked back, including your advisors… Poor Josephine.

She knelt on shaking legs, looking up at you with a mix of shock and fear in her dark eyes. You inhaled a razor-sharp breath then, glaring down at the Mark with such hatred, as if _that_ would make it go away. Make everything go away.

“Herald! What in the Maker’s name did you do?!” Commander Cullen’s voice seem distant, as did the grip he had on both arms.

“I…" your anger fled in a moment and was replaced by a feeling of emptiness, "I killed so many people. They had families, futures that I took away from them.”

In an attempt to quell the tears nobody was supposed to see, you met his eyes. They were wary underneath the almost-golden shade cast by the setting sun and oranges in the sky.

There was something else he was feeling by the furrow of his brow, and when you felt his hands start to furl around your shoulders—a hug, you guessed—you pushed him away with a quiet “Please don’t touch me,” and shifted your gaze to the children scampering around the lake.

The blond furrowed his brow at the sounds of you _sobbing_ into your hand, and he almost blanched.

The Herald of Andraste had never shed a tear—was never supposed to in fear of showing weakness.

“Forgive me, Commander,” you choked out through broken cries, turning on your heel and making a beeline toward your home.

He and the other onlookers were left dumbstruck in your wake, which left behind nothing but a trail of footprints. 

* * *

Everyone saw you differently after the incident outside of Haven. In a small village gossip traveled quickly, so before dinner everyone had already heard of your violent outburst. The way they looked at you with such… fear, some with contempt. You had to admit, however, that your newly-discovered Mark power _was_ extremely terrifying. With enough energy, you had the ability to wipe out all of Haven in a matter of seconds, with nobody to stop you. People were tiptoeing around you, and Chancellor Roderick had been given an even larger reason to hate you: the fear of your presence and the safety of the citizens.

You sincerely wished for death in those few weeks, spurring contemplations you hadn’t experienced since you had lost your parents in the War a few years back.

Nobody had come to visit you or speak to you on the rare occasions you _did_ venture out of your home. Most of the time you played with the children out from the lake, and the parents could only watch in horror, for you were the Herald: a girl that could annihilate an entire village in mere seconds if she got angry enough. So, no, they were too afraid to approach you and tell you to _get away from my child_ , yet afraid enough to keep a very close eye on their children when you were around.

Aside from war room meetings, your advisors rarely spoke to you after you almost killed them with your weird Mark magic, which was understandable, and was also no surprise that an Inquisition soldier had come to collect you for a war room meeting. Apparently you were to go to Val Royeaux to meet with the _sane_ Templars and convince them to join the Inquisition’s fight against all things evil, namely the huge green hole in the sky _._

Or something like that…


	4. Difficulties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader meets Sera, spends some time with her companions, and makes it back to Haven in one piece.

The Templars in Val Royeaux were _not_ sane, seemingly turning against both you and the city they apparently came to protect. On the bright side, though, you found a really good archer leaving out free handkerchiefs in the different areas of the city. Her name, you found out in some shady courtyard, was Sera. And she was a good shot. Much, much, _much_ better than you.

“How’d someone like you end up in a place like this?” Sera inquired, twirling an arrow between lithe fingertips as the two of you sat around a dwindling campfire. Everyone else had retired to their tents hours ago, and by the looks of things it was roughly two in the morning, so sleeping was to be expected.

You looked up from your masterpiece of smiley faces clawed into the dirt before you by a stick you had found lying around the camp.

“What do you mean?” The weariness in your voice was prominent, and you silently cursed yourself for being so transparent.

“Well, you weren’t here one day, off in that own weird world of yours, and the next day you woke up as the Herald thingy,” she explained, and like many other people you had encountered, her odd Fereldan accent made it hard for her to be understood.

Pursing your lips, you contemplated her question. How _had_ you gotten there? It was a question _you_ didn’t even know the answer to. It also wasn’t one you got asked often.

 _But (Name),_ you reminded yourself, _people never talk to you to_ ask _questions like that!_

“Actually, I do not know,” you eventually confessed, shoulders drooping under the invisible weight of questions and responsibilities, neither of which you were accustomed to in New York.

Sera cackled, and you looked over at her with a poorly-concealed, insulted countenance. _Rude._ She must have seen the look on your face, because it didn’t take long for her to start backtracking on her words.

“Aw, piss! I didn’t mean it like that! I _vis’_ thought about how _erkil_ you are, to be completely lost in this pile ‘ _a_ shit that’s your life now, _a’proe_.”

Every time this weird girl with pointed ears and too-large eyes opened her mouth, you couldn’t help but show some sort of amusement. She was hilarious, and the fact that you could barely understand a word she was saying underneath that thick accent of hers—and the simple fact that sometimes she just didn’t make sense— made her somewhat of a challenge for you. One that you would no doubt overcome. And you wouldn’t stop until you _didn’t_ have to sit and think on every word she spoke for ten minutes at a time.

“ _Morik_ call you Glowy! No, ‘ _olo_ stupid. How ‘bout—“

“Forgive me, Sera, but I cannot understand you.”

“Aye, listen here, Picky!” She suddenly gasped, and you flinched.

You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but ever since you had gotten back from the Hinterlands, gnawing nervousness had been a regularity for you, and the fucking _dreams._ Whether you were inside Haven or out in the wild, the memories of your first killing spree were not to be forgotten any time by your over-thinking mind. It had gotten even worse on days with no human interaction, loneliness eating you from the inside out and causing your anxiety to climb to drastic levels.

Sometimes, you wished you had just hugged the Commander. You were craving human interaction like a dehydrated woman living in the middle of a desert. It made you feel so, _so_ stupid to think thoughts like that.

You didn’t need people.

Yet Sera, being as close and open-minded as she was, wouldn’t mind the mildest of touches, right?

You sighed, glancing at her out of the corner of exhausted eyes.

“How _ar_ like that for a nickname, eh?”

Exhausted eyes met excited ones, and you furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Picky.” 

* * *

_Can’t sleep. Can’t ever sleep. Why can’t I sleep? Too many dead by my hand. Alive in my dreams, torturing me._

The sharp slice of something across your back causes you to cry out in pain, struggling against bondage you just now realize is holding you in place.

You see numerous faces peering up at you, leering at your helpless body dangling from a chandelier in… a hall of sorts. Your advisors and Cassandra—even _Solas_ —have contented themselves with watching you suffer, the latter hovering by the doorway, watching from afar.

The whoops and hollers are what you can’t take.

“Murderer! The murderer is dead!”

“Kill the bitch! Just like she killed my son!”

Even your advisors are laughing at you now, pointing and laughing and _mocking_ , the Commander leaning on a sword slicked red with your blood.

“Your crimes will be paid in death…!”

You see the sharp glint of a sword protruding from your chest before you can feel the pain of it being wrenched from between your ribs, effectively coating the people before you in blood— 

* * *

You woke to screaming, a shrill cry paralleling the noise you expelled your first day in Thedas.

“Herald! ‘Tis but a dream, Herald. You are fine.” The soothing voice and lilted accent forced you to open aching eyes, chest heaving in an unsuccessful attempt to renew your breathless lungs, mouth opening and closing like a dried-out fish on the brink of death.

Fish.

Death.

_The lake!_

“The lake,” were the first words out of your semi-functional mouth.

Long fingers curled around both of your shoulders, providing enough force and feeling to keep you grounded into reality.

“Breathe, Herald,” the voice—Solas—reminded you, tone equal parts stern, equal parts concerned. “You are having—“

“ _A panic attack_.” You were so wrapped up in breathing properly you didn’t realize you were speaking fluent English.

Solas allowed you to curl up against his side once your breathing had leveled out for the most part. You thanked him profusely as you pulled your knees to your chest, pressing your temple further against his ribs, desperate to hear his heartbeat, his breathing, anything to remind yourself that you resided in the present. _Protected_.

“Herald, it would be wise to not let yourself get like this again,” Solas chided, and you lowered your head like a child that had been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. Damn him and that persona of his. Making you feel guilty for… a very good reason, actually.

“I have no one to talk to,” you explained—in Common, this time—with a mutter, pursing your lips against the loneliness threatening to overtake your already-weakened state. “Everyone either fears me or hates me, Solas. What do I do?”

He hummed. You felt the rumble of his chest against your cheek. “I would suggest proving to everyone that you can be trusted, but, Herald, I am sorry—I do not have an idea on how to go about that.”

“It is okay,” you sighed, damning a yawn that had broken through your lips, so powerful it made your eyes water.

“Sleep, child,” he demanded, yet his voice was like honey, threatening to sacrifice you to the wrath of your dreams once more. “We have a long journey ahead before you find peace at Haven. You must rest now.”

His voice seemed to have hypnotized you, for you felt the familiar burning of your eyes and drooping of fatigued eyelids that came with the crest of rest.

No. You couldn’t. The dreams would surely waken you again. What was the point of sleep if you were just woken up every half hour by blameful faces and the in-dream death that always came?

“I am sorry, Solas, but I cannot sleep,” you muttered pensively, pushing away from him to rise onto shaking legs. “The dreams I have been having…”

Solas simply shook his head disapprovingly, rising to stand by your side.

Why was everyone so _large_? Not only their height, you had grown to realize, but the bulk of Thedas’s people as a whole made you uneasy at times.

“Come, _da’len_. Let us walk,” he said in such a finalizing tone that you had no room to argue.

“Where are we going?” You craned your head up to look at him as he motioned you out of the tent with a wave of his hand.

“While you are up, we might as well work on controlling this new… _power_ of yours,” he replied, leading you away from camp and into the beautiful, amazingly lush woods.

Down here, there was no snow in sight. Nothing but abundant greenery for miles. It was a nice change of pace from the stark white mountains of Haven, and you noticed how much better of a mood your companions were in now that none of you felt as if you were on the cusp of death under the freezing temperatures and not-as-warm-as-you-had-initially-thought clothing.

“Oh, that,” you finally answered, though he made no mention to reply as he led you deeper into the trees. “Do you have… um… _snakes_ here?”

He turned his head slightly to glance at you over his shoulder as he stepped over a low-lying branch.

“We might, though they must be called something else in Thedas. I’ve not heard a creature by _that_ name in all my years of travel.”

“ _Thank God_.” You sighed in English, comfort short-lived as your nose was nearly broken by an inconspicuous branch had snapped back into place by a certain chuckling elf. You had barely ducked in time. “And thank _you_ for almost killing me!” 

* * *

You and Solas arrived back at camp a great amount of hours later—the sun had risen to its full height in the sky—to find a furiously pacing Cassandra.

The glare she gave the two of you when she realized you were standing there made you actually cower behind your apostate acquaintance.

“Herald, thank the Maker!” She stalked over to where you were standing and yanked you out from behind Solas, immediately looking you over.

A wave of realization washed over you.

“Solas did nothing to me, Cassandra. He was helping me control my new power,” you informed her, eyes glazed over in fear at the way she pinned you in place by your arms.

“I have no reason to fear for your safety around Solas. I fear for _you_ in general, Herald.” Oh God, was she lying. The way her jaw clenched and her eyes slightly narrowed at the mention of him gave enough away.

She didn’t trust him.

“I assure you, Seeker, I have no reason to harm her. I do not have a death wish, after all,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke the last sentence.

She spared him nothing but a glance, instead steering you toward your tent with a protective arm resting along your shoulders, the itchy fabric of her tunic making the hair on the back of your neck rise.

“Why do you not trust him?” you inquired, the curiosity uncontained in your voice.

“I _do_ trust him, Herald—“

“It is fairly obvious you find him dangerous, Cassandra,” you pointed out, causing the woman before you to pause and stiffen. “An elven apostate you barely know? He would scare anyone.”

“Not you, I am guessing.” She stood by the doorway to your tent (yes, it had a fucking _doorway_ ) as you passed by her to change clothes, wiry arms crossed against her chest, eyes narrowed.

“No? Why would I be?” you asked, lowering yourself onto your bedroll to unpack a freshly-washed tunic.

“It is _that_ attitude, Herald, that can get you killed,” she replied exasperatedly, resting a palm against her forehead.

“I hope you are joking,” you muttered, shoving your sweat-covered tunic into your pack and changing into your new one. The silk felt magnificent against your battered skin.

“No. I am not. Now,” she pulled a set of gloves out from under her belt and threw them over to you, “put these on.”

“Why?”

“Because we are in need of supplies but the Commander insists that your identity be hidden. Now, _put them on_.” She grit her teeth when speaking the last sentence, and you wasted no time in following her orders.

“These are too large.“

“I am sorry, but it is all we have for now, Herald, so we must make do.”

“Yeah,” Sera added, popping her head into your tent only to comment, “’s not our fault you’re, like, the size of a _baby_ or something.”

Cassandra shot you a wary look, as if she were waiting for you to exterminate everything for miles with that new power of yours after Sera’s unnecessary comment.

“Ooh! I could always call you Teeny!”

“Sera, _God_ , no!”

“Awwww,” the elf whined, screwing her nose up. “I think it’s adorable!”

You almost blanched, switching to English in your vulnerable state. “ _I’m not adorable, you ass_!”

She must have read the redness of your face and shrillness of your voice as you being thoroughly pissed, for she simply laughed and scampered away, yelling “Teeny!” on the way out.

“I want to murder her,” you finally said, long after she had disappeared, heart still stammering in anger.

Cassandra sighed near you. “That makes two of us, Herald…” 

* * *

Because most people didn’t recognize who you were, the _Herald of fucking Andraste,_ they had no problem with making fun of your size and comparing you to both human children of similar height and dwarves. At one point people even referred to you as half-breed.

You were none of those things.

So, after around the thirteenth time of some asshole asking where your mommy was, you had taken enough.

“I am not a child, for _fuck’s sake_!” you screamed, scaring the poor Chantry sister to death. “I am an adult so stop asking me where my mom is!”

“Oh, there goes my girl!” a familiar Fereldan voice carried between the merchant stands.

“I am not—“

“Teeny, I thought I told you not to talk to strangers,” Sera said, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. “Sorry. She’s gotten so _vicivus_ lately.”

By that point, you were fuming. But you let Sera lead you away from the Chantry sister and toward the merchant cart where Varric stood, a smug grin on his face.

“Ten silvers, as requested,” he said with a chuckle, tossing a bag of coins into Sera’s waiting hand.

You shoved her away from you and turned to glare at Varric. “Do not do that again.”

“It was all in good fun,” the elf to your right argued, but you shot her an icy stare that shut her up for the moment.

You wanted to tell them: _I’ve been used before. For amusement. I don’t like it. Please, don’t do it. Please._ But you didn’t, and instead let your expression do the speaking for you.

You actually didn’t speak for the rest of the visit in town, instead busying yourself with the sights and differentsmells from back home. It was weird. Every place you visited was vaster than the last, and you didn’t know if you thought everything was constant because you were never able to travel past the limits of New York, or if this world had some very extensive scenery.

Either way, it was both enjoying and annoying to travel through.

* * *

After getting back to Haven, you had your first drink in Thedas, courtesy of Sera.

The taste was absolutely horrid at first, but the more mugs you tossed back, the more you focused on the warmness in your belly instead of the awful kick of alcohol on your tongue.

So there you were, hunched over your multiple empty mugs at the table in the center of the room, an equally-hammered Sera attempting to pull you into her lap.

You were so drunk you didn’t have the mind to translate what she, or anyone else in the tavern, was saying.

“ _Par fo’ re aldi, coma kil ar dok!_ ” she exclaimed, tugging on your wrist.

“ _Sera, chill ‘e fuck out!_ ” you told her, not registering in your mind the words of English spewing from your mouth.

You downed another drink, slamming the mug onto the table with a “Woo!” and laughing when someone slipped on a spilled drink, face-planting on the floor right next to you.

Sera used your momentary lapse of attention to tug you to her, and you collapsed on her lap, wrapping warm, tired limbs around her neck. She suddenly pulled you to her chest, mockingly rocking you back and forth like the child everyone thought you were.

“ _Ged off, Seeera_!” you ordered her, tone as serious as you could manage while your eyelids slowly lowered as a wave of exhaustion washed over you.

She lifted you off of her and pointed up the roof, jangling the coin purse attached to her belt.

Jump from the tavern roof for some extra coin?

Oh, fuck yes!

You and Sera stumbled out of the crowded room, exposing yourselves to the chill of the night, a light snow covering your hair and shoulders. She pointed to a conveniently-placed ladder propped against the side of the building, and you eagerly ascended to the roof.

Eh, not _that_ far down, right?

You skidded over to the edge of the building, reading yourself for the jump that—in your right mind, you would have realized—would probably break both legs, even if landed successfully.

Of course, the heavens were looking down on you, because a quick set of footsteps crunching under snow halted you in your tracks.

_“Herald!”_

You leered over the edge of the roof, fingers clutching the sturdy building until your knuckles turned white. You were too drunk and too off-balance to be trying to steady yourself on a damn roof, and you should've known better—

The commander caught you before you hit the ground, though the extra weight from your momentum brought him to his knees. 

You blinked up at him, cheeks and nose rosy from the cold, and smiled at the flakes of snow in his hair. 

"Herald, what were thinking?" He attempted to chide you but you just laughed at him and rolled out of his arms. "Do you not care about personal safety? When will you realize that you aren't living for yourself anymore? People are trusting you with their lives and you're—"

"Is that all you do, Commander?" You were standing at arms length from each other, both fuming and frustrated. "You isolate me, treat me like an outcast, then get angry when I fit in? Nobody ever asks how I am doing. You make me feel like I am not even human." 

His jaw worked under the skin, and you focused on the wind-induced blush on his cheeks instead of his eyes, which were no doubt showing disappointment or anger. 

"I'm sorry we make you feel that way," he took a small step forward, hands clenched at his side, "but you must understand where we are coming from."

A furrowed brow, tears blurring your vision. You blinked them from your eyes and when they fell down your cheeks, the commander sighed. 

"I have to go."


	5. Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herald gets sick, a rift opens in the worst of places, and our favorite spirit friend gives the best hugs.

Cold.

That was the first thing you felt against slick-sweat skin when you woke up the next morning. 

“Get up, Picky. You’ve slept all pissing day!” The voice echoing painfully in your ear belonged to that loud-mouthed elf you picked up at Val Royeaux.

“Fuck off, Sera,” you slurred under a pile of blankets and two pillows pressed against your head by both of your hands.  

Cold, again. 

“Git up!” she yelled, yanking the pillows away from your face, throwing them to the ground with a muffled thud. “I poured water on you twice already.”  

You growled up at her after your sheets had finally soaked through. In a fit of anger, you kicked your leg out and hooked your foot into the back of her knee, causing her to be knocked off balance. 

“Aye!”  

“ _Get out_!” you sneered, native words spewing from your cotton-dry mouth. 

“Stop yelling at me!” 

You threw the pillow that was lying under your head at her, and it hit her square in the face then fell to the floor. 

Suffice to say, you were very hungover and not in the mood for people. The headache that spread from behind your eyes to the back of your head felt as if your cranium were being pried open, and the nausea that racked your stomach made you hope that you  _would_  throw up soon in order to get rid of the simmering sickness in your belly. 

“I hate you.”

* * *

The second time you came back to Haven, you brought with you a towering qunari with grey skin and horns, a Grey Warden named Blackwall, and an awful case of the flu _._

“I think I am dying,” you muttered under piles of blankets built upon by healers in an attempt to break your ever-growing fever. You sniffled, a bronchial cough racking your lungs at the sudden movement of your weakened body. “One of you got me sick!"

“Or maybe your body isn’t used to all this shit you’re getting exposed to,” The Iron Bull mentioned, placing a large mug of water and a bowl of some nasty-looking soup on your bedside table. “Alright. I’m in charge of you today, so you gotta drink and eat up.”

You audibly swallowed, cringing when the once dull ache in your throat was set aflame yet again.

“All of it?” you asked meekly, cowering behind your sheets when he gave you a look that made no room for negotiations.

He actually scared you. Terrified you, almost. He was twice the size of a people that frightened you to begin with, not to mention he was apparently some spy or something. And the axe he dual-wielded was as tall as you.

Damn it all, you were _not_ the right choice for a person in a position that required no fear and excellent leadership skills, because if one couldn’t tell, you were afraid of everything on this new planet. Not to mention that everything and everyone was trying to off you, even your own body. 

As for the leadership skills, well, being afraid of someone meant that you couldn’t muster up the courage to tell them what you wanted them to do, thus leading to an endless cycle of not getting your needs met in fear of pissing the wrong person off.

“Alright, open up.” His deep, quieter-than-usual voice brought you back to reality, and you quickly turned your head away as he attempted to lift a spoonful of soup to your lips. 

It confused you, this time. How caring this giant killing machine was being with you. And you had only known each other a week.

“Why are you being so nice?” you asked, peeking up at him from behind your many blankets.

“Because,” he sighed, “your people don’t trust me as far as they can throw me, and neither do you.”

“So, you want on my good side so I do not decide to put my army on you?”

He scoffed, dramatically rolling his… eye. “ _What_ army?"

 You narrowed your eyes at him. “Touché, the Iron Bull." 

He sat your bowl of soup back onto your nightstand with an exasperated huff, instead reaching you the gigantic mug of water he was expecting you to drink.

“I gotta ask,” he started, and you look up at him over the rim of the glass as you gulped down the cold liquid that felt amazing against your sensitive throat. “Why the hell’re you so damn formal? Sera told me you called Cullen ‘Commander Rutherford’ the first three months you were here.”

You shrugged your shoulders, lowering your mug onto the blankets resting over your legs, perspiration from the glass forming a ring of wetness on the material. “I guess I just want to be as polite as possible. I want to get the protection I need in order to stay alive in this world.”

He chuckled, a low grumble in his throat. “Just admit you don’t know shit about Common.”

“I—“

“Eat your soup and I’ll teach you all the cuss words I know. In Qunlat _and_ Common.”

The mischievous smile he gave you made you wary, so you narrowed your eyes and looked for any sign that he was bluffing. Then you realized how stupid that was considering he bluffed for a damn living. 

“Deal.” You finished your soup. 

The next day, he taught you cuss words and phrases that made you, and the healers that would vsit to make sure he hadn’t killed you, blush like schoolgirls.

Josephine actually came to visit you after Bull left, your cheeks still rouged from his teachings. 

“Are you feeling alright, Your Grace?” The reluctant, wary steps she took toward your bed made your chest ache. Just like everyone else, she was afraid of you. She saw you as a monster. “Leliana and Cullen said that they would try to see you, but—“ 

“They have not,” you interjected, albeit a bit _bitterly_. The same loneliness sat heavy in your chest, and you coughed into the crook of your arm. “I do not care though. The Iron Bull has been doing a good job at taking care of me.” 

She looked absolutely startled at your declaration.

“Why is he taking care of you?”

You shrugged. “Nobody wants to have to deal me.” A sympathetic look crossed her face, and you waved a hand dismissively. “What is the real reason you came to see me? I gather it is not to see how I am doing.”

“Uh, no, Herald, it was not. My apologies,” and in your sickened stupor you didn’t even realize the _mountain_ of paperwork she had rested on your bedside table, “but these need to be looked over and signed.” 

"Why me?"

"These people are requesting your signature so they know we are being genuine. Most are simple things, such as sending supplies for our soldiers or requisition materials."

You shot her an incredulous glare then looked over at the paperwork. “You do realize I can barely sit up, right?”

“Well, I’ll fetch a healer right away!”

And just like that, she was gone.

* * *

A few hours into sitting at your desk with a thick blanket over your shoulders, signing the paperwork for Josephine, a knock sounded at the door.

“ _Jesus Christ_ …” you muttered, pressing a chilled hand against your still-feverish forehead. “Come in!” 

You heard your front door open and felt the chill of the frosty evening air. 

“My apologies for not seeing you, Herald—“ 

It was  _Commander Cullen_.

“What do you want?”

You heard him clear his throat as his steps sounded around the room. After you glanced back at him, the look of awe on his face as he inspected your things was priceless.

“It looks as if someone actually lives here,” he muttered to himself, and you actually paused in the middle of writing your signature. 

“Commander, _I_ live here,” you reminded him, shooting a sideways glance in his direction.

“I-I didn’t mean…” He sighed and swiped a previously-opened letter off of your nightstand. “What are all these letters?”

You turned back to your work with a renewed headache at your temples. “On my travels, I met very interesting people. Those, however, are proposals. You can read them, if you must. The one on the very top is a man from Val Royeaux asking for my hand in the form of poorly-written _poetry_.”

He looked over at your serious expression and let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re serious!”

You sat down your pen and turned your body around in your chair to face him, sniffling. “Read it yourself if you do not believe me.”

He reluctantly opened the expensive-looking parchment paper and muttered, “Josephine still hasn’t continued those language lessons, I see.”

You opened your mouth to retort when the mark on your hand sparked electricity around the room. Cullen must’ve felt it, because his head whipped around to stare at you.

“What’s going on with that?” he demanded, pointing at the hand spewing green electricity.

“I think—“

A breathless soldier burst into your home, eyes raking over your sickly figure huddled on a chair in the corner of the room. “Herald, my apologies for barging in, but there’s a rift out on the lake! The soldiers need your help.”

You shrugged off your blankets and lunged for your boots as the commander stomped past you out of the room, giving a quiet mutter of your title in goodbye. You threw your favorite blanket over your shoulders and left your home, rushing out of Haven’s gates and toward the frozen-over lake.

You had to stop when coughs racked your lungs or you took a sneezing fit, until Cassandra ran to your side, wrapping an arm around the line of your shoulders and physically _pulling_ you out toward the lake.

“I am very sorry, Herald, but we had no choice,” she told you, using her other hand to hold your blanket in place as you sucked in icy air between coughs, the cold setting your lungs aflame.

“I know,” you responded hoarsely as you approached the thicket of the fighting. “Hold this,” you said, shrugging off the material and handing it to the woman.

With uneasy steps, you carefully stepped onto the thin ice, a wary Solas following you.

“Use the mark’s power, Herald,” the elf reminded you, voice far away to your stopped-up ears. “Just as I taught you.”

The ice cracked under your weight and you paused, a sharp pain roving from your palm up through your arm, and you hissed, clenching your scarred hand into a fist to hopefully lessen the pressure placed upon it.

Sera had joined you and Solas at one point, as you quickly picked out the groan of wood as she knocked back an arrow and released it upon an unsuspecting rage demon.

What none of you expected, however, was the gigantic Pride Demon that materialized in front of the rift after the first wave of demons was defeated.

“Aw, piss. Prissypants, get back here!” Sera called to you once the Pride Demon landed on the lake, causing a web of cracks to spread along the ice.

You turned to run after the freezing water soaked through the bottom of your favorite boots, but the demon’s stomps had obliterated the ice and it fell into the lake. The electricity coming from its weird whip fried the remaining fish in the water, you almost joining them if it weren’t for Solas’s barrier spell that sprung up at the last second as you plunged into the freezing temperatures, clawing at the ice slipping from your grip as you tried to get back up. You raised your hand out of the water and grasped for the invisible gravity of the rift, hoping that it would pull you out. A stream of bubbles disrupted the water in front of you, and all hope of freedom was dashed away when a wave of rift energy pulsed through the water, sending you sliding under a thick block of ice.

“ _It’s okay_ ,” a familiar voice whispered as you sucked in a mouth full of saltwater.

You closed your eyes, content in the fact that you were to die in this lake.

A flash of memory—

_green smoke, clawing through black water, pain, burning skin, life flashing before dying eyes_

A searing hot hand burned through the ice above you and touched freezing skin, pulling you from the water.

“ _Stop fighting_. _You’re safe now._ ”

There were hands on your back, beating you between shoulder blades, rubbing soothing circles into your spine; cooling fingers pressed against the burnt skin of your bicep, the smell of crisp winter air as you took in gulps of oxygen, lungs so depleted that black spots dotted the vision of soldiers scurrying about and a worried commander and the sight of your companions fighting to defend you.

“I am okay,” you choked out, mirroring the voice’s words.

“Now, Herald!” Solas exclaimed, yanking your arm toward the roaring rift behind you. “You have to close it, and then you can rest.”

You rooted yourself into place as your mark flared, the rift beckoning you to it. You could feel yourself physically sliding on your knees as the excruciating pain in your palm overwhelmed the numbness in your hand.

The rift closed, and everything became eerily silent as they watched you with expectant eyes. You lifted your exhausted gaze to Cassandra as she knelt in front of you, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“Herald,” she said, leveling her equally exhausted gaze at you, and all you could do was lean into her. “Thank the Maker. We were so worried…”

Cassandra called for all the available healers as a pissed-looking Sera stared you down over the former’s shoulder.

You were escorted back to your home with gentle hands, the surrounding civilians declaring praise for their more-than-worthy _Herald of Andraste_. You scoffed under your breath, disbelief on your face. They had hated your presence mere hours ago, but they were now praising you, healers begging to take care of you, as if they had previously forgotten the fact that you were the only hope in saving their world _._  

Yes. You were tasked with saving a world that wasn’t even yours to begin with when  _your_ world was the one that needed rescue. 

* * *

“You need to choose quickly, Herald.”

You tore your gaze from the map and met three sets of impatient eyes. 

“Hmm?” 

The Commander sighed. “Helping the Templars—“

“Or mages,” Leliana added, openly staring daggers at the man.

“Yes. Will you help the _Templars_ or the mages?”

You shrugged your shoulders, wiping the ever-present exhaustion out of your eyes. “Templars, I guess.”

Josephine held a hand up, halting you in your tracks as you turned to leave. “Herald, maybe you should—“

“I think she’s making a perfectly reasonable decision.”

“Maybe our Herald isn’t in the most clear of minds to be making decisions,” Leliana suggested, crossing lean arms over her chest.

You grit your teeth but attempted to explain your thought process. “The way I see it is this: the Templars are the safest choice. They can weaken the Breach instead of possibly messing up and making it stronger with magic.”

Magical strength was a lot less easy to control than the Templars who supressed it.  

“Exactly!”

“ _Or_ , the mages could enhance your powers to compensate for the weakened state you’re in right now,” Leliana argued.

You narrowed suspicious eyes at her. With a declaration of your final choice of the Templars, you left the War Room.

“You leave for Therinfal Redoubt first thing tomorrow, Herald!” Josephine called to your retreating form.

* * *

“ _Hey, Cole?_ ”

The spirit appeared before you in a puff of smoke, sitting cross-legged on your bed. His hat was tilted downward so you couldn’t see his face, and he nervously picked at the strings of your bed cover.

“ _You need me. I’m… happy that you need me_ ,” he muttered, voice so low you could hardly hear him. “ _I’ve… missed you, (Name).”_

A small smile threatened your usual frowning lips. “ _I didn’t think spirits could feel emotions_.”

A pregnant pause hovered between the two of you.

“ _You’re scared, and I want to help. You’re… hurting, and it’s so loud under a mistrust leaving you empty and in pain. People want to comfort you, but you won’t let them… Why?_ ”

Your eyes fell to where his shaking hands were balling your cover into his fists. You swallowed thickly.

“ _I don’t know. I just—“_

Your explanation was cut off when cold, lanky arms wrapped around your shoulders, a cold nose pressing against the crook of your neck.

“ _Is this what a 'hug' is_?”

You laughed, sincerely laughed into Cole’s ear as you reciprocated his embrace. 

“ _Yes, Cole. This is what a hug is._ ” 

Needless to say, you felt a lot better about whatever you would face at Therinfal Redoubt.


	6. Two Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Therinfal.

The Elder One, if given enough time, had the ability to cross into your world with his army of demons and destroy Earth even more than it already had been by the War going on. While inside your own mind at Therinfal, the Envy Demon had shown you that it _had_ been done. Within the fucking year, mind you.

You decided against telling your companions about what had happened, instead voicing your concerns by turning away—flat-out refusing on nights they had insisted—dinner, or excusing yourself to your tent before the sun had set in order to be alone with your thoughts. You knew that The Iron Bull had an ounce of knowledge as to what was going on. He was always watching you, giving you concerned looks and hopeful speeches.  

On the third night of dinner-skipping, the flap to your overly-spacious tent opened, and in came the qunari, ducking low under the animal-skin threshold to keep his horns from yanking the whole thing down.

“Alright, (Name),” he said, carefully lowering himself onto your bedroll to avoid legs tucked under your favorite blanket, “I think I speak for everyone when I ask: what in the Maker’s holy ass is wrong with you?”

You thought to chuckle at the expression he used, for you weren’t used to hearing ‘Maker’ and ‘Andraste’ instead of an equally-tasteless ‘God’ and ‘Jesus Christ.’

Despite yourself, you must have laughed anyways, if the triumphant grin on Iron Bull’s face was any indication.

“There it is,” he said, patting your thigh. "You can talk to us, you know that, right?" 

A nod of your head in reply. "I know. I am okay, though." You avoided his eye, immediately giving yourself away by trying to do the opposite.

"Is it about what happened at Therinfal?" Bull scooted closer to you and, to your surprise, you made room for him.

A flurry of frustrations and fears and worries left your mouth, shaking hands were clutched into fists, and the soft way he held you while you cried made your heart swell. You felt cared for.

* * *

The four of you made it back to Haven in a month. It was the shortest trip you had been on, yet the most unpleasant. One of Leliana’s scouts announced your return and before you could unload Demon, seeking hands were on your back, tugging on your robes, grabbing your arms, and if it weren’t for Commander Cullen’s men, you were sure that the crowd—so desperate to touch something “holy” _—_ would have swallowed you whole.

The Commander was the one that dragged you away from the horde of people and to the large, imposing doors of the Chantry. When you planted your feet a little ways away from the building, he turned to you.

“What is it?” he questioned.

Your blood froze at the sight of him.

He looked just as battle-weary as you, yet it was quite unlikely for him to have left Haven in your absence in fear of missing any important news on your behalf. Such as your death.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” you muttered, turning your eyes away from the sickly look of his face. The rings under his eyes contrasted awfully with the paleness of his skin. “What happened?”

He steeled his jaw and shook his head in disbelief, as he had to force you into the Chantry where the rest of your advisors were.

“Ah, there you two are. We were afraid we would have to come and fetch you ourselves,” Leliana jested, yet the joke she made fell on two deaf pairs of ears.

“Tough crowd,” added Josephine, the scratching of her pen against parchment silenced, and you thanked her silently that it wasn’t you to stop her.

“I am not in the mood for jokes,” you replied coolly, looking across the war table to an agreed, fatigued commander. “What I am in the mood for, however, is a hot bath and a fresh change of clothes. So, if we could…” you motioned with a roll of your wrist, the word on the tip of your tongue.

“Finish?” Josephine suggested, and you nodded fiercely.

“Yes. _Finish_ this soon, that would be good,” you said, leaning forward on the war table, each forearm touching Orlais and Ferelden, respectively. “I am too tired to be thinking over war strategies.”

Commander Cullen sighed across from you. “We all are...” 

* * *

You contemplated ways to fill the void in your chest, left behind when the Envy Demon ransacked your mind. For weeks after the encounter, you felt assaulted, wronged in some way, completely and utterly _violated_.

It scared you, because you hadn’t felt that way since you were younger, struggling to fit into a group that could protect you, falling for the men’s promises of hope that they could give you what you needed, only to fall victim to wandering hands and kisses—

“No. You are only hurting yourself by thinking of the men that hurt you,” Cole interrupted hurriedly. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself, but you do it anyways, don’t you? You don’t eat. Your body is sad, angry at you. You hide behind the scars of your youth and intend to make more—“

“Please, Cole,” you begged him in English, burying yourself further under your blankets, wholly content with wallowing in self-pity in the comfort of your own hut. “Tell the stupid Breach to swallow me up and make me forget about everything.”

You watched as he discarded his hat to the floor and curled in on himself next to you, you on your side, the blond hair on his forehead whispering against your collarbone.

“What was life like on Earth? Before you found yourself here, I mean,” Cole inquired, and the hint of a smile curled up the corners of your lips.

He was trying to distract you, get you to thinking of something else.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Cole, but…” You sighed when he nudged your shoulder with his forehead, just as a puppy would, or a lost cat searching for attention. “So selfish.”

“Of course, (Name). Sometimes I have to be. Like a second ago. You wouldn’t listen, so I had to get your attention. And it worked, didn’t it?”

You sighed in resignation, running your fingers through his impossibly-soft tresses to distract your hands. “I guess, Cole. I guess.”

A silent beat.

“Earth?”

You pulled yourself away from him and sat up, reaching for the clipboard you used for doodling on your nightstand.

“You draw?”

You shook your head and dug around for a quill in one of the bedside drawers. “No, Cole, I _doodle_. When I get anxious.”

“You must doodle a lot,” he concluded, voice alone a singsong melody that could put you to sleep.

When you started drawing, you could feel him shift behind you and look over a hunched shoulder, cool breath on your neck. You scowled and moved away from him. The feeling made you cringe.

“Sorry,” he muttered, moving instead to sit next to you as you drew a rough outline of Earth.

You shaded where the water would have been on your planet, and the boy leaned forward.

“Interesting,” he muttered, turning to examine your face, and you felt him invading your mind. For a split second, you panicked, feeling the same probing when the Envy Demon had stolen your thoughts and memories to stake as its own.

A knock sounded at the front door, and you thought to ignore it because you knew exactly who it was—either a scout or soldier ordered to collect you for a War Room meeting. But you couldn’t face your advisors after everything that had happened. You were sinking further and further into an ocean of sadness and you didn’t know how to swim to the surface.

Cole made to speak out against your thoughts, but you held up a hand to silence him and got out of bed to open the door, discarding your clipboard on top of the sheets.

“You’re being summoned, Your Grace. U-um, to Lady Montilyet’s office,” a frightening boy stammered, clad in the Inquisition soldier uniform, and you smiled warmly at him to quell his fears.

God, what had people been saying about you?

“Of course,” you replied, watching as he half-walked-half-ran away from your home.

You threw on your boots and grew wary as you headed for the great doors of the Chantry. You had seen what Haven had looked like with The Elder One in power: nonexistent. Decrepit, used as nothing but a landmark to show where the defeated Inquisition had once settled.

Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you extended your hand to open one of the doors, but stopped when it was opened by an eerily-calm Chancellor Roderick, yet as he caught sight of you he immediately started seething.

“ _You_. What have you done?” He took a harrowing step toward you, pointing an accusatory forefinger in your direction.

Your eyebrows raised and you turned your head to search for the closest Inquisition soldier to come to your rescue should things turn awry.

“What are you talking about—“

“Don’t play dumb, otherworlder,” he spat, his hand an inch from your face. “You’re an abomination. If I were you, I would get on my knees and beg the Maker for forgiveness.”

Something inside you snapped, and the Mark flared, the searing pain in your arm pissing you off even more. “Get out of my face,” you sneered and clenched your hand, green energy peeping through the gaps in your fingers.

“Lay a finger on me. I dare you.”

But you stepped aside, passing by him and through the gap in the door to get to Josephine’s office before you _killed_ that sorry bastard.

You halted in your steps at the raised voice of Cassandra.

“—can’t be trusted. We know not one thing about her. How do we know it’s _not_ the Envy Demon?”

Josephine was heard next.

“Yes, she _has_ been acting strangely since she got back. Maybe one of her companions should watch over her, talk to her and get to the bottom of her behavior—“

“Or we could kill her and be done with it.” Fucking Leliana.

“I’ve been to many Harrowings, and I know what demons are capable of,” Cullen’s voice added.

Was—was he… defending Leliana? Adding to her argument that you would be better off dead?

Your voice was stuck in your throat, which became very dry. If you had wanted to move, to interject their meeting, your legs refused to listen, frozen in place.

An arm wrapped around your belly—“ _Let’s get you back to bed, Your Grace_ ”—and you screamed.

With a flick of your wrist and the help of the Mark, the imposing form behind you stumbled back. Cassandra appeared before your shaken form, sword drawn, and you scrambled back on hands and knees, crying out a shrill “Get away from me!”

Realization suddenly hit her, and she stopped an advancing Cullen with a hand wrapped around his bicep, a steady “Don’t.”

Cassandra changed into a defensive stance, brows drawn, then said, “Don’t make me hurt you, Herald.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “You were just plotting how to deal with me! What are you—“

“Herald,” a scared Josephine said from her place behind the Commander, “put your hand down. Please.”

You blinked. Once, twice, three times before you realized that, in your fear, the Mark had flared and you had held it out in front of you as a miniscule bodyguard. So if anything were to happen, you could stop them in their tracks.

“Only if _they_ ,” you nodded to where both Cassandra and the Commander had their blades drawn, “put their swords away.”

The two warriors shared a sideways glance before eventually sheathing their swords, and you hesitated a moment before placing your hand at your side, green lightning still spewing from the gash as a visible testament to your growing mental instability.

The muscles in your legs tensed as you readied yourself to dart away at the next sign of danger.

And when the Commander started towards you, you ran. Out of the Chantry, past your home, out the gates of Haven, and into the side of Iron Bull.

“They’regonnakillmeyouhavetohelp,” you yelped, speaking so fast that your words slurred together.

He looked down at you, a wary yet worried expression on his face. “What’re you talking about? Nobody’s gonna—“

You pushed him, then. With the Mark’s power. Not enough to knock him off his feet, but enough for him to stagger back a little.

“Listen to me! My advisors think I am—“

“Herald! There you are.” Smooth as silk, Leliana’s voice cut into your conversation, casting Iron Bull’s attention to the redheaded bard before him. “I’ve been looking _everywhere_ for you.” You knew that he could see the intentful gleam in her eyes, but on many occasions he had said how scary—and, because it’s Iron Bull, _sexy_ —she was, and how he wouldn’t take ten million coins to mess with her.

You were at her mercy as she dragged you away, leaving you feeling speechless and betrayed.


	7. An Ill-fitting Collar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader gets leashed, and things go to shit.

You hated them more than anything at that moment. With Leliana’s wicked confidence, the Commander’s feigned propriety, and Josephine’s counterfeit politeness, you had the urge to say “fuck everything,” get miles away from where you were, and blow Haven to a fucking _crisp_.

And you wouldn’t even bat an eyelash.

You had been seething when Leliana marched you into the War Room where your other advisors stood, both equally peaceful and content as you were roughly shoved by both shoulders into the room, lit by brazier stands against each wall. The soft light cast a soft glow over the Commander’s ashen skin, brightened Josephine’s eyes, turned Leliana’s hair a reddish-orange.

It made you sick. How soft everyone looked just by a little candlelight, when they were all undoubtedly predators hiding beneath your advisors’ skin.

And they thought _you_ were the monster.

“Would you like some tea?” Leliana offered, a triumphant grin on her face, holding out a steaming cup for you.

“I hate tea.” Your lip curled up as you eyed what was in her hand, as if it were the cause for all of your problems thus far.

Josephine sighed exasperatedly, dropping her mobile desk onto the map. “We are not doing this to punish you, Your Grace. It is necessary for us to take all precautions in securing the safety of our people.”

“Wow,” you drawled venomously, “it is almost as if I have a say as to what is going on.”

You noted the way the Commander’s lips curled up at the very ends. From your still-atrocious accent, no doubt.

“Are you feeling well, Herald?” Leliana asked with a cock of her head, placing both palms flat on the table before her. “You seem more… _short_ than before.”

You gaped at her. “Because my _life_ is being put into question!”

“For good reason, Herald,” the Commander chided with a shake of his head. You wanted to hit him. He was acting like your father, as if he was disappointed in you for doing something wrong.

_“Wrong. Wordless whispers, whimpers, cries out into the night **help me. Don’t wanna do this anymore. Can’t do this anymore.** Nightmares of pretty demons disguised as pretty ladies. The pretty lady. Don’t want it. Said no. Please, no. Feel so guilty. Wound so tightly might snap—“_

“ _Cole—_ “ you snapped inside your head, and suddenly—

—he appeared before you in a puff of smoke, sitting cross-legged on the War Table, body fully solid and no longer transparent like before.

“She’s trying, but you can’t see. Won’t try to see that she is. Needs help. Scars on scars on scars, nightmares of restless hands and selfish hands and all she wants is safety—“ He spit the words out so fast you almost had no time to stop him.

“Cole. _Stop it_.”

“Maker’s breath.” A hand was on your arm, pushing you behind a much larger body. The Commander’s.

He had his sword drawn, pointed toward your only friend.

“Guys, it is—it is okay. I have known him since I came to Thedas. He has helped me,” you reassured your advisors, all of them standing back in shock.

Cullen turned to you, a look of disbelief on his face. “This _thing_ helped you.” Framed as a statement, not a question.

“He is not a _thing_ ,” you argued. “He is my friend, and his name is Cole. He helps people… Just ask Solas.”

“Oh, yes,” said Cullen mockingly, “because we should _definitely_ turn to the elven apostate mage for advice, correct?”

You made a face and stepped away from him. Your temper flared, and so did the Mark, drawing a muttered curse from your lips as the pain ebbed and flowed to your heartbeat. That was something you could not get used to.

“W-wait,” Josephine started, turning in circles as if to look for something, “where is the boy?”

You glanced around the room and also noticed that Cole was gone, shrugged your shoulders. “He always does that. You get used to it after a while.” 

* * *

You had been put on constant watch by Leliana, and were always followed by one of her female scouts (you had insisted that, under no circumstances, would you be caged by a _man_ ), no matter where you were or what you were doing).

She watched you while you slept. It was the creepiest thing ever, and you would wake many times throughout the night to find piercing grey eyes boring into you as she sat on your desk chair in the corner of the room. You could never fall back asleep. Even if you wanted to, however, the nightmares would always find a way into your home, pick you up, and shake you awake.

Your advisors dug themselves a deeper hole with every single thing they did to you as the days dragged on. You had sunken into an even worse mood now that you were sleep-deprived, hungry, and depressed yet again.

It wasn’t until a few days later, when the work had died down as everyone waited for the Templars to show, that you found out the woman’s name. You were stripping down to your smalls one night to get ready for bed when you heard her grumbling on the same chair in which she sat all night and day.

“You do realize that I don’t wanna do this anymore than you, right?” she challenged, straightening a little more, chin tilting higher in a motion that said _I’m better than this—than you._ And if it weren’t for you being half-naked and her being armed, you would have slapped that high-and-mighty look right off her face. “I have better things to do than babysit some little girl—“

“You are perfectly free to do them,” you hissed in broken Common, so upset you could barely ascertain the words coming from your mouth were _actually_ Common.

And by the bewildered look on her pretty, stupid face, they were not.

You threw on the loose t-shirt you had arrived there in—a personal promise to assure yourself that you _would_ make it home—and straightened your back just as she had mere moments before.

“Your Greatness, I assure you that, as the _Herald of Andraste_ , I pose you no trouble,” you hissed, pressing a mocking hand against your chest.

She rested her elbow atop the back of the chair and smirked. “Ella,” she said.

“Excuse me?” You raised surprised brows at her and sat down on the bed, pulling a neat pillow from your stolen pile and trapping it on your lap, between your thighs and the elbows you had leaned on them.

“My name,” she explained. “We’re gonna be spending a lotta time together, so I guess you should know my name… given I’ve seen _your_ tits more than I’ve seen my _own_ in the, what, three days we’ve spent together?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I have to change a lot.”

“That I can tell,” she replied.

You laughed, letting your pillow soak up most of the warmth your breath created as you lowered your head to break the gaze she held on you.

Tonight, however, things were a little more relaxed now that you two could actually hold a decent conversation. Then, you heard the chair creak under her weight as she shifted and rose to her feet, advancing towards you with a scheming grin.

“Let’s go for a drink,” she suggested— _demanded_ —and suddenly you were being hauled to your feet by your jailor, a green dress made of the finest silk and hemmed with gold accents (given to you by a man you had wooed whilst in Val Royeaux) was thrown over your head, and within the blink of an eye you were being dragged through the pathways of Haven toward the tavern, expensive green dress and night slippers and all.

Ella led you by the elbow through the mass of people to an empty table in the corner of the room.

“You drank before?” she asked, plopping down two mugs of sludge that slightly resembled the inside of a sewer system back home.

“Of course,” you defensively said, and she laughed when you held your nose over the brew, sniffed, and almost threw up on the table.

Halfway through your concoction and only part of your brain left working, you could barely make out the booming sounds of Iron Bull’s boisterous voice coming straight for your table.

Chairs were moved (at one point the qunari physically _picked you up_ and placed you down someplace else, but you were too tipsy to care) and your once table-for-two became table-for-two-and-Bull’s-seemingly-three-thousand-Chargers all settled elbow-to-elbow with one another. You were squished between a barely-acquainted Krem and a drunken Ella, having been on her fourth mug of alcohol.

“Jesus Christ, Ella. You have described my boobs three times in three different awful analogies,” you said exasperatedly.

Bull guffawed and spilled some of his drink on the table; all playfulness vanished from his face in an instant, and he said, “Tell me more of how her breasts glowed in the light of the moon—“

“Not you, too, Chief,” said Krem, burying his face in his hands.

He looked over at you and gave you an apologetic look, but you simply pressed a hand to his shoulder and smiled lightheartedly.

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ ,” Ella exclaimed, standing up from her chair and holding out her hands. “No touchin’ the— _hic_ —charge. She’s in biiiiiiig trouble.”

You narrowed your eyes at her and glanced back at a group of _very_ interested mercenaries. “Why am I in trouble?”

“Boss said— _hic_ —ya can’t be trusted. Even thought ‘bout killing ya, but the Commander said it woul’nt be good for morale or some shit,” she explained in her drunken stupor. “Ya know what, I’ma cut ya a bit of slack tonight. You can sleep by yourself. Go on back home. I got important stuff to take care of.”

And you jumped at the opportunity. You gulped down the rest of your drink, said your goodbyes to the Chargers, and marched on home like the good little Herald you were supposed to be. You hustled back—or as fast as your tipsy feet could trip over themselves—and sitting at the door was a small wooden halla, carved by hand it seemed. You bent down on your haunches, worn knees creaking in protest, and turned the figurine over and over in your hand, feeling every smooth dip and slope where the creature was perfectly crafted. You had told Warden Blackwall, on the nights huddling around campfires with nothing more to talk about than the damn weather, that you loved halla more than anything… If the pictures you saw in history books from the Commander’s office were accurate.

He had asked you if you had ever seen one, and you confessed that it was one thing you wanted to do before you went home.

_Went home._

You looked up at the temporary home you inhabited, at the handmade “THE HERALD’S SANCTUARY” sign hung up on your door that Varric had bought you.

And you opened the heavy door, slung yourself onto your uncomfortable bed, and cried.

You were so scared—afraid of the people around you and of being used like you knew you were and not being able to go back home and falling in love while you were at it and—

A cold, _cold_ hand on your shoulder, calming the tears leaking from your eyes the steady drip of a faucet.

“ _I_ love you,” a voice said. Cole. There was no way you could have mistaken that distant, airy, singsong voice that belonged to him.

“It’s different,” you explained in English through hiccups and tears. “The love you’re talking about is platonic. I’m talking about _love_ love.”

“Oh,” was all the spirit boy said, tipping his head down to where your manicured nails dug into his arm.

You dislodged them with an “I’m sorry” and ran a forefinger over the seemingly untouched paleness of his skin. _Oh yeah, he’s a spirit. They don’t get hurt like people do._

“I’m a person,” he said, hurt laced in his voice.

“Not as much as me or Varric or Solas, though,” you explained, cradling his much larger (much colder) hand in yours.

“Oh, yes. Well, they’re worried about you. Solas and Iron Bull and especially Josephine and Cullen and Leliana. Those three know they’ve hurt you, and they never meant to, [Name], I promise you. They’re… sad.”

You simply stared up at him, not knowing what to say or how to say it. Why were _they_ the ones sad?

“Because they _never meant to hurt you_ ,” he said, and that was the first time you heard Cole getting legitimately upset with you. “I try to tell you, but you _never listen_.” He sighed exasperatedly, slouching his shoulders under the weight of your worries.

You rested an elbow on one of your bent knees and leaned your chin onto your scarred palm, perfectly content with being swallowed up by the massive amount of blankets you had collected over the months.

“You need rest,” Cole finally said, rising from your bed without as much as a rustle from the blankets. “The Templars are coming tomorrow.”

“How do you know?”

He paused for a second, readjusted his hat, and said, “Cullen’s thoughts are _very_ loud.”

You laughed.

* * *

The next day, the Templars arrived at Haven, driving the mages into their homes and the refugee apostates closer to you, hoping that you would protect them from whatever horrors the Templars would instill upon them.

As if most people didn’t see you as beneath them, which was saying something to be considered less than a mage.

At this point, you were barely a damn _person_.

The Commander willingly welcomed the Templars, and on many occasions throughout the day you berated him, drawing his attention to the children who should have been coming into their magic any time now cowering behind you, clinging to your leggings with every bit of strength they had. He simply assured you that the men and women would be watched.

You didn’t believe him.

At the war meeting later that evening, you tried to convince your advisors that the civilians needed _your_ support, without you being led on a leash by Ella.

“Herald,” Cullen started, and you waited with bated breath to see what kind of defense he would bring to the Templars, “you seem to have forgotten that _you_ were the one who invited them to the Inquisition, not us.”

“Which was quite stupid, not asking for our guidance,” Leliana added with a nod of her head.

You gritted your teeth against a colorful retort and instead squared your shoulders, straightening your back against disapproving looks. The room fell silent as your advisors waited for you to say something in reply.

Josephine was the first to break the silence, pressing the pen to her lips. “The Herald has surely had a long day, and she’ll have an even longer one tomorrow.” She turned to you, and you realized, with a pang of hurt, that she no longer used easy words that you were sure to understand. She didn’t care anymore. But you had brought that on yourself when you threw her to the ground and made her terribly afraid of you all those days ago. “You leave for the Rift at dawn, Herald. Get some rest.”

You knew it had been coming, the strengthening of your Mark being slowly worked up to in the past few months. What had gotten you a job as The World’s Only Hope and the Living Symbol of Andraste. So, in some morbid way, you had to thank it. Of course, it had changed you. Made you seem both greater and lesser than you once were, depending on who you asked. Forced the weight of a whole world to settle like one large chip on your shoulder.

So, the next night, when Cole sat rocking back and forth next to you at the celebration, muttering something you were unable to discern, the Mark seemed to be the least of your worries.

“He’s coming for you. You need to run. Hide. I won’t let him take you. _Nobody_ will let him take you.” By the time he finished talking, Cole had stood up, drawing nobody’s attention but your own.

“C-Cole, _who_ is coming for me?” you asked, rising to unsteady, exhausted feet.

“He will burn, pillage, whatever he has to do to get to you. I will hold him off.” And Cole was gone.

You leapt from the half wall you were sitting on that overlooked the campfire and the refugee’s tents, moving quickly through the dancing, celebrating people to where Solas stood against one of Haven’s buildings.

He looked over once he heard your quickened footsteps and pulled a quizzical face.

“It is Cole,” you told him. “He was talking about this man who is coming for me. Says he is going to burn and destroy all of Haven to find me.”

“Why are you telling me this?” He wrapped both hands around his staff—a sign of nervousness, you guessed.

“Is Cole telling the truth?”

“You should know better than anyone, Herald.” He stopped to sigh. “But yes, he is. Spirits like him read the thoughts of those around them. It must be one very loud mind…”

“Unless it is someone in Haven.”

“No. ‘Tis not. Otherwise they would have found you.”

“Tell Cullen,” Solas said, fixing his gaze to something over your shoulder. “He needs to know that Haven is in danger.”

“What if he does not believe me?”

Solas made to move, yet stopped to look at you with an intensity in his eyes you had never seen. “That will be on _his_ conscience, _da’len_.”

With a sharp nod of your head, you turned and sprinted toward the gates of Haven where Cullen stood, chatting amiably with his fellow Templars and Josephine.

The group went quiet as you approached, gulping chilly night air into spent lungs.

“Commander, Haven is in danger!” you yelled above the music of the party.

He turned to look at you as if you had just sprouted a set of horns and a dragon’s tail. “Herald, what are you talking about—“

The alarm bell tolled, and the gates of Haven were wrenched open by a pair of Leliana’s scouts.

“Commander, there’s a force over the mountain!” one of the scouts you suddenly recognized as Ella said. She spotted you and her face went pale, long legs striding up to you. “[Name], your spirit friend warned us. You have to do something.”

It was just as you had feared: the Elder One did not need a demon army to destroy Haven.

“I have to go out there,” you decided, looking upon the mass amounts of red rising over the crest of the mountain and down the path to Haven.

A cold hand slipped against yours and squeezed tight. “No. We have to get you somewhere safe,” Cole said, voice faraway, as if a part of him was still wandering the mountains outside the gates.

He attempted to pull you away, but Cullen held you steadfast with a hand wrapped around your bicep.

“The Elder One is coming for her. She has to hide!”

“No, Cole.” Cullen shook his head. “I need her here.”

“You aren’t helping her. You’re hurting her!”

You saw Cullen flinch at the spirit’s words, and you turned to face the latter. “Cole,” you calmly said, squeezing his hand between yours. “It is okay.”

He shook his head furiously, muttering unintelligible words, and vanished.

With the help of your advisors, you came up with a plan: take back the trebuchets, fend off the mages, and get Haven’s people to safety. At the Chantry, you would regroup and figure out what to do next.

“Bring me Iron Bull, Solas, and Sera!” you called to Ella, who was trying to usher people into the direction of the Chantry.

She nodded her head and sought them out quickly, the three of them rushing up to you mere moments later.

“Please be careful,” Ella said, pausing a second in deliberation before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips in goodbye, her fingers tight in your hair, “because I wanna see you naked again.” And she left without another word to regroup with Leliana’s scouts.

“Damn,” was what Iron Bull said in response to Ella’s powerful one-liner.

Damn, indeed. 

* * *

The fighting had resulted in numerous casualties for both the Inquisition and the mages under the Elder One’s control, and the smell of iron and cooked human meat that made your mouth water (you hadn’t eaten all day) left you vomiting into a pot in the Chantry after collecting yourself and readying for attack.

Sera was there, holding your fallen-down hair out of your sweat-slick face, jokingly reassuring you that no, you weren’t pregnant. In any other situation you would have laughed.

You righted yourself and wiped your mouth on the hem of your burnt sleeve.

Solas appeared next to you, using a hand on your upper arm to steer you toward an uninhabited corner of the Chantry.

“You must use your power, Herald.”

If it weren’t for him supporting your weight, you would have blanched at his suggestion.

“Solas, that will wipe out everything for miles. Including us,” you hissed, eyes wide in both shock and terror.

He simply leveled his gaze at you. “ _And_ the Elder One.” When a look of realization crossed your face, he nodded his head. “You know what you have to do.”

“Find a way to get all of you out.” And just for emphasis, you decided to switch to English. “ _I’m facing this fucker on my own.”_


	8. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are revealed.

The first thought on your mind as you steeled yourself to reveal your plan to the Commander was _I wasn’t serious about wanting to blow up Haven_. You cursed yourself, wondering if there actually was a “Maker” up there, twisting your words into macabre situations like your own personal hellish genie.

Solas pressed a hand between your shoulder blades, silently reassuring you that you were doing the right thing.

You took a deep breath and strode up to Cullen, who was talking to a distressed Cole, and at the sight of you the Commander set his jaw and sent you a look that made you have second thoughts about telling him, in which you suddenly realized _Cole_ had revealed your plan to him.

“Are you _crazy_!?” The sheer anger in his voice made you screw your face up in a scowl, and you flinched away when his hand rose— _okay, he was just rubbing his forehead. He wasn’t going to hit you._

“She thought you were going to hit her,” Cole suddenly announced, snapping Cullen’s attention to you, golden eyes once angry now calmer at the revelation.

“I’m angry, Herald, but Maker’s breath, I would _never_ lay a hand on you,” he assured you, slowly raising his hands, showing you the gloved palms in surrender.

“I need to do it,” you said, ignoring his feigned semblance of pity, eyes set aflame with a fierce determination suddenly pulsing through your veins.

He laughed incredulously, a scoff of breath from his lips. “You’ll destroy everything within a mile radius.”

A sadness washed over you at the immediate vision of your comrades perishing under the Elder One’s assault, causing your brow to furrow, and you managed a melancholy smile. “You had better get out of here, then.”

“There is a path,” Chancellor Roderick piped up from his hunched-over position propped up on the floor. “You would only know about it—“ he groaned when a gush of blood spilled onto the floor of the Chantry from the wound in his side; a punctured lung, you guessed, “—if you had taken the Summer Pilgrimage—“

“Then you need to move,” you interjected, turning to your companions that had gathered nervously around you. “If I can save one person in all this, I will.”

Orson, front and center, smiled proudly at you, clapping you heartily on the shoulder. He then turned grave, expression dipping even more intensely than his usual _I’m-not-impressed_ frown. “Listen, Kid,” your trainer grabbed you by the sides of your face, nails creating crescents in the sensitive skin behind your ears, “use your Maker-damned stealth for all it’s worth, just like I taught you. Got it?”

You huffed a large breath through your nose as tears threatened to spill, pulling him close with a hand twisted into his dark hair. He rested his forehead against yours, and you shut your eyes when _his_ tear rolled onto _your_ cheek.

“Yes, ser,” you replied, sniffling back a runny nose as you blinked your eyes against oncoming tears and wiped his sadness from your skin.

Both of you released each other, him stepping back to let you pass by.

It was Ella that caught you next, and the knowing look Iron Bull gave you at the sight of her caused your face to smear on a deep red blush.

She pulled you aside and muttered a quick, “I expect sex when your ass gets back,” that left you choking on your own spit.

“You can’t die now,” the qunari said, thumping you on the back as you coughed, then it turned into a faint clearing of your throat.

If you survived this, well... your skin itched at the thought of another being touching you like what her previous actions had alluded to. The funereal silence was layered on thick, as everyone knew that once you were outside the haven of the Chantry, you would be on a suicide mission. You knew it, too, and the acts of wishing for death and actually _facing_ it were two completely different things, but you had wished it upon yourself.

 _I wanted it to be on my terms_ , you thought solemnly.

“She doesn’t want to die,” Cole whispered, and in the silence of the hall, he might as well have yelled it at the top of his lungs.

And just like that, tears were shed from nearby refugees, and you wanted to tell them _stop crying you don’t know me stop acting like you’ll miss me you selfish—_

“I’ll get them to safety,” promised the Commander: a man you had grown to resent in the months you spent in solidarity and _invisible rattling venomous lonely_ chains, yet as you looked upon the man who led a whole army—and who ultimately determined the safety of your comrades—you felt nothing but begrudging respect.

The force at which you threw yourself upon him caused a grunt to rumble in his chest, yet you dug your fingers into the fur of his cloak and silently promised him that your death would _not_ be for nothing.

He awkwardly reciprocated under the gazes of dozens of people, tilting his head down to whisper, “The last time I tried this, I was almost killed,” in your ear.

A shiver tumbled down your spine at the sickening sensation and you pulled away, rolling your shoulders a few times to settle your coat, to release the tension of nerves that had built up there while you also mentally wound yourself tighter and tighter against the weight of dozens of peoples’ lives piled upon exhausted shoulders.

“I’ll tell Josephine and Leliana,” he finalized before clearing his throat, pivoting on his heel to turn away and walk toward Josephine’s office.

“Well, that was fuckin’ weird,” said Iron Bull, to which you rolled your eyes in reply.

 _Leave it to him to ruin a moment of reconciliation,_ you thought bitterly.

“I will miss you guys,” you said with a solemn smile, then with a slink through a slightly-cracked door of the Chantry, you were out in the chilling weather, an ash and snow mixture coating your hair and clothing.

You kept to the shadows of the night after activating your stealth power, still so unknown to you like a breathless and sticky second skin, seeking refuge in the darkness as previously unshed hot tears blurred your vision, spilling down chilled cheeks that raised gooseflesh on the back of your neck.

The lyrium-enhanced spells the mages were casting all around you brought tendrils of hair away from your scalp, as if you had rubbed your head on a static-covered balloon. The air was charged with electricity—it made every hair on your body stand up, made your stomach churn skittishly at the thought of all that power running straight through your body should you slip up and expose yourself.

 _Orson, I hope you’re right,_ you thought indignantly, stepping out of the shadows for a brief moment to make a large arc around the homicidal mages.

“Aye! Carson, you hear that?” one of the mages said, robes swishing against ankles as he turned around to look for you and your feet crunching along the rocks of Haven’s long path, where the south trebuchet sat.

 _I need to get the Elder One’s attention_.

Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you let your subterfuge slip before setting the Mark alight as bright as you could, green light sending you into an immediate headache.

The nearby mages whirled around to face you—“There she is!”—and the air was set abuzz with the premature creation of a dozen lightning spells.

A searing heat from a blast you didn’t see coming knocked you off of your feet, and you groaned at the pain splitting the back of your head in two from your tumble into a nearby wooden crate.

“She’s mine,” a gnarling voice said from above you, yet you could barely hear it over the buzzing in your ears caused by the sound of the blast.

You were kicked in the side and rolled onto your back, the brush of worn robes against your arm as you reached out to whoever it was hovering over your body. An explosion of pain went off in your arm as you were lifted up by your wrist, your shoulder coming loose from its socket. You cried out, yet abruptly stopped when you were shaken and held up.

A brief moment of silence and you opened aching, ash-filled eyes.

The sight you were greeting with caused bile to rise in your throat. The Elder One was so close your noses almost touched, and he pulled back the part of his lips that weren’t kept in a permanent scowl by the red lyrium peeking out like spikes from the decaying skin of his cheek.

He _sniffed_ you. Blew an angry breath from his nose that sent your hair flying back.

“Otherworlder,” he growled, digging talon-like nails into the skin of your wrist as he brushed his decayed cheek against yours to mutter into your ear, “you have something I want.”

The Mark unconsciously erupted in a green light that forced you to turn your head away.

“You _will_ look at me when I speak to you!” he thundered, pulling away and grabbing your face with talon-like nails to face him again.

“L-listen, if you want _this_ ,” you wiggled your fingers, causing the fresh wounds to leak deep red blood and trail like small veins down the inside of your arm, “you can have it! I don’t want it!”

He narrowed hawk-like eyes at you before flinging you away from him like a ragdoll, your back landing roughly against the side of his dragon, scales biting painfully into your skin. The dragon hissed, snapping its gaping maw at you in warning.

You rolled over onto your stomach and clutched your scarred palm to your chest, watched as he paced back and forth in contemplation.

He stopped for a moment, talked to something you couldn’t see, then marched up to you, yanking you up by the same arm, and you screamed that time as bones ground up against each other. It made your head spin and your stomach churn.

“How do I get to your planet?” he asked—demanded, shaking you so hard your teeth rattled inside your mouth.

“I-I don’t know. I can’t figure out how to—“

And then it hit you—

_You were both speaking fluent English._

He peered into your face, which was suddenly ashen in revelation. “What? _What!?_ ”

“You know English. You—“ you gasped, “—you _need_ _me_ , don’t you? To get back to Earth!”

His ever-present scowl deepened. “ _Gah!_ You’re useless!” he screamed, tossing you into the trebuchet with a force that caused your vision to darken; you sank to the ground. “You have a choice as to how you let your world fall—by _me_ or the hundreds of others looking to find a way through you. They will destroy it, whereas I will turn Earth into something more—an empire the Black City would be ashamed of!”

The breath was expelled from your lungs all at once from the words he was spewing at you like verbal bile. “W-what _are_ you?”

He sneered down at you, unaware of the power you were conjuring within the Mark.

“The future.”

With a sharp pain to your shoulder, you raised your arm to the sky and stood up, green glowing brighter than it had before, the power inside threatening to spill over, coil of the swirling Fade within you readying to snap.

And once you saw the flame-tipped arrow go off just over the mountain, you let it.

The pain was excruciating as your power unfurled, unleashing an explosion upon all of Haven, covering everything in a sickly green, the blast almost able to knock you off your feet.

You collapsed immediately after, waking up under the large logs of the defensive walls of Haven. A cold, cold hand was shaking you awake.

“(Name), get up. You have to get back to us! It’s too dangerous out here!” Cole’s voice echoed in your ears, and you stirred, opened your eyes, threw up blood and heaved until your throat was raw. 

You screamed, the sound carrying between the mountains, cries coming soon after.

“What the _fuck_ is happening!?” you shrilled, using pale fingers topped with deep blue fingernails to wipe away the sticky red substance drying on your face.

“Your body and the Mark is overwhelmed, and neither of them know what to do; your body thinks you’re hurt. The Mark _is_ hurt,” Cole explained calmly, lifting you onto your feet by elbows hooked below your underarms. “You need to move. I’ve told everybody you survived. They’re relieved. They’ll be happy to see you.”

You groaned as the slightest movement of your arm sent a thousand knives directly to your shoulder—you couldn’t even move it.

“Just leave me to die,” you begged him, eyes leaking tears as the sheer force of your actions forced your body down with every movement it made. “I can’t do this anymore, Cole.”

“They need you,” he argued, pulling you slowly along by a hand wrapped around your uninjured arm, switching to clutch your hand in his. “ _I_ need you.”

The two of you kept a steady pace, you barely shuffling along as Cole kept the air alive with reports on what the others were doing, how proud they were of you, and where Ella would kiss you when you got back—which brought a fierce blush to your freezing cheeks. He fetched your favorite duvet (that Josephine had managed to steal from you before everything went to shit), wrapping it around your shaking shoulders, your body taut from the below-freezing air and biting wind.

“C-Cole,” you choked out, “I have to rest.”

He looked back at you with widened eyes, then upon realizing you weren’t giving him some code of _I’m dying_ , he nodded his head and led you under a nearby overhanging ledge that was barren of snow and kept out the cold.

“For tonight,” you whispered, curling up against his sitting figure.

* * *

You almost didn’t wake up the next morning, content to die under your body’s shock and the bone-chilling snow storm that had drifted under your shelter.

A gloved hand touched your shoulder and was the one that shook you awake and out of your borderline-dead reverie.

“Herald,” a voice said, barely heard against the raging wind, “can you stand?”

You shook your head and curled in on yourself under your blanket, content with being buried under the endlessly pouring snow.

“(Name),” Cole whispered, voice standing out against the noise of the weather as his breath fell coolly against your cheek. “You have to fight it. Cullen and Leliana and Cassandra are here to bring you some place warm and safe.”

“Warm,” you mumbled, almost moaning when a splash of warm breath washed over your face.

“Where did all this blood come from?” Leliana’s accent was picked up in your ears, and you opened your eyes momentarily before squeezing them shut when a headache appeared immediately against the bright light of the sun reflecting off of the snow.

Then you realized a hand shielded your eyes from the dangerous glow.

“Keep your eyes closed, Herald. You may go blind in this light,” Cassandra warned you, pulling you protectively against her chest. “We need to get her to a healer. Her hand is badly burned.” The chill of her armor sent your teeth to chattering, and she whispered an apology before lifting you into her arms, tucking your face into the heat of her neck and adjusting your blanket to use as a medium to keep the iciness of her armor away from your freezing form. “She is _freezing_.”

“I did what I could,” Cole said, voice apologetic and saddened.

“You kept her alive this far, Cole, and we thank you.” The relief in Leliana’s voice sprung tears to your eyes.

_Had they cared after all?_

“They always have,” the spirit boy answered. 

* * *

You cried the first few hours at camp, and nobody paid any mind to it. Maybe it was because you had saved everyone’s lives. Maybe they thought it time for you to have an emotional breakdown after you stared death in the face and destroyed a whole village. Whichever it was, you were thankful.

With the help of Sera, you managed to bathe on your own, even when healers were barging in every ten seconds with questions like “Do you need help?” or “Is everything okay?” and by the time you washed the blood and soot out of your hair, you were ready to give up and let them baby you like they so desperately wanted to.

Halfway through the bath, however, you couldn’t conjure the will it took to raise your hand from the edge of the metal tub.

“Sera,” you muttered numbly, rolling bruised eyes—colored purple from insomnia and black from the battle—up to look at her, “I need you bathe me.”

Instead of fabricating a blush-inducing quip had it been any other situation, she gave you a look that mixed both pride and sympathy in such a way that forced you to avert your gaze.

“I think Ella wants to do this part,” said the elf, retreating back to her original self with the facetious grin she presented to you that stretched from pointed ear to pointed ear.

You hummed in mute acknowledgement, eyelids slipped over exhausted eyes, and she frowned at the unexpected influence her thought-out jest had on you.

“I am too tired for jokes, Sera. Sorry,” you dismissed plaintively, sinking further under the minute waves of your bath water, scalding your skin an angry red and lifting puffs of steam into the balmy air of your tent. Even with a makeshift fire alit in the center of your tent (on constant watch by Solas as to not set the canvas aflame) and the violent heat of your bath water, you couldn’t shake off the bite of the mountains against your pallid skin.

In the fierce snowstorm for hours upon hours, it was no surprise to find that you had severe frostbite in the tips of your fingers and toes. Thank God for magic, though, for by the end of Solas’s healing, you only had to get the unsalvageable tip of your pinky amputated. However, nobody could discern what was causing your Mark to release a steady burn upon your unsuspecting hand, even when it had been completely healed over and over yet kept coming back a few minutes later.

Lost in your pity and woes of the physical pain that had been inflicted upon you, you didn’t hear the soft footsteps of a pretty scout with cropped hair and olive skin.

“(Name). You’re okay,” Ella assuaged, resting warm hands upon your rigid, fragile shoulders, rolling soft fingertips into your skin and reposing stiffened muscles. “I… I’m so sorry.”

She pressed chapped lips to the skin of your jaw, caressing both softly and fervently in an attempt to coax some— _any_ —reaction from your seemingly-lifeless pair of body and soul.

Coupled with a tongue both wet and hot, her lips traced their way down the pulse point on your neck, and the light moan was all you could manage in an attempt at encouragement for her actions.

She suddenly pulled away from you, the strange softness of her fingertips and kisses still lingering sweetly on battered skin.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” she confessed remorsefully.

You straightened your aching back at her confession, twisting your protesting body around to gape at her. “What are you talking about?” you muttered blandly as scalding water sloshed over the rim of the tub.

“… I’m from Earth.”


	9. Ella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You learn more about Ella.

“Explain,” you hissed in English, gripping the edges of the tub with white knuckles. The sudden edge in your voice made Ella’s eyebrows creep up her forehead.

The murderous intent in your tone surprised even you, but you were so tired that you had no breath to apologize to her. After all, why should you? She had lied, known who you were—who _she_ was—yet forgot to mention such a crucial detail. You felt betrayed.

A pang of hurt rose in your chest.

You snorted, a semblance of your previous attitude shining through seeming Tranquility. And people wondered why you had trust issues…

She stuttered a breath and collapsed onto your bedroll, and you screwed up your face in annoyance.

“Before I say anything, you have to promise me you won’t speak a word of this to anyone,” Ella said in English, spectating with resigned hunger as you stepped out of the tub, once lifeless skin now rash red from the hellish temperature of your water.

She made to brace you as you stumbled over to your bedroll on shaken legs.

You recoiled from her advances and instead chose to sit at the head of your bedroll, snuggling naked under blankets offered to you by your “followers.” It seemed as if your miraculous escape from Haven strengthened the peoples’ belief that, yes, you were their almighty and sacred Herald.

You hated it. The… idea of a not-so-special person such as yourself being worshiped by special people. It left a bad taste in your mouth that you couldn’t get rid of. The muttered prayers in thanks as you walked by, the longing looks the people now gave you, and the touches of restless hands upon your “holy” robes as they passed you was all too damn much. You felt like some heretical form of Jesus Christ.

You never answered Ella, just shrugged your shoulders in response, curling your chilled, pained body into itself under your warm blankets.

“Where’s my duvet?” you asked, looked around your tent in search of it.

The ‘I’m not impressed’ look Ella gave you made you want to laugh. You thought she was going to yell at you, but she instead said, “I don’t know, (Name), but I’ll go look for it after I say what I need to say, okay?”

You sighed dejectedly and eventually nodded your head.

To your surprise, you didn’t struggle when she snuggled in next to you, running the tips of her fingers up and down your back, your body turned away from hers.

“I’ll just leave in the important bits, okay?” She sighed, averting her gaze to the snuffed-out fire barely aflame in the center of your tent. “I grew up in California before the war started. When I was twenty I moved to New York, got into the wrong crowd, and the war started, I’m _thinking_ , five years later. Something happened and I was taken here where I could start a new life. Everything was so difficult. It got even more complicated when you showed up.”

Her hand trailed from your spine to curl around your ribs, and you sucked in a slight breath as the heat of her fingers seeped into your cold skin.

You furrowed your brow and concentrated on the minute amount of information she had allowed herself to say.

“Do you know how you came here?” you inquired, voice growing shakier when Ella took one of your breasts into her warm hand.

She laughed then—a wispy sound that betrayed her hard exterior. “Yes, I do, but sweetheart, your job here isn’t done yet.” A wonderful mouth pressed to the pulse of your neck. “Maybe I’ll tell you after all this is said and done.”

A hand trailed down your stomach, and when small bolts of lightning sprung from her fingertips, you couldn’t help the small moan that snuck past your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for a while.” 

* * *

You threw on the nearest robe and forced yourself to leave Ella’s warm arms. She had always argued about how she was a giver in bed, and dear God above, she knew how to give. Your whole head felt fuzzy from the morning’s events.

You embarked from your tent for the first time since Haven, and all activity stopped buzzing around you once your presence was regarded. A small group of children lounging by the fire stood up and approached you fearlessly with wide grins and optimistic hearts, and as they latched on to you they were careful to avoid your pained hand.

“Momma wanted me to thank you for saving us,” a golden-haired child stated, arm opening your robe at the knee to hug your bare thigh.

You chuckled nervously and attempted to pull your only clothing back together as not to show any private bits, patting the child warmly on the top of his fluffy head of curls.

What presumed to be his mother rushed over and pulled him away from his very fragile savior, instead opting to offer you a gracious smile contrary to the hostile glares you had been getting prior to almost dying saving everyone’s ungrateful asses.

You thanked her in a breath of relieved vigor, and she lifted the boy onto her hip, ushering the other children away from you—“Her Grace is very tired, young ones. Best to not get her too worked up. Ser Lion would have our heads if we killed his beloved Herald.”

At her comment you narrowed glowering eyes. _Fuck the Commander and the horse he rode in on,_ you thought impertinently.

Before you could turn around, large hands lifted you by your underarms and a loud laugh resounded throughout the entire camp.

“Five coppers, Sera!” taunted Iron Bull, completely unaware of your struggling form in his grip. “I told you she wouldn’t be wearing shoes.”

“Iron Bull, let me go!” you screeched, panic drawing your brows together and causing your legs to flail desperately for some purchase of solid ground.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” he conceded, a small groan resonating in his chest when a well-aimed foot kicked him between the legs. “Damn, what’s the deal?”

You dropped unceremoniously onto the snow and centered all of your anger into a hardy push that actually made him shuffle back a centimeter. “The last time someone did that to me I was almost killed, you asshole! _And_ you could have hurt my shoulder again!”

The Mark hissed in mirrored anger and you sucked in a deep breath, sharp pain stealing away your snark in a quick second.

He released a resigned sign and placed a large hand on your shoulder with a feather-light touch. “Wanna talk about it?”

You wrinkled your nose and sniffed disdainfully, turning your head to the side and crossing aching arms across your chest. “No… Maybe… I do not know.”

“I know you _need_ to,” he suggested, emphasizing his invitation with a motion of his horns to your tent.

You clicked your tongue and scrubbed a battered hand over your face. “Nah. I have to talk to Solas about an important thing, but we can talk later.”

He eyed you skeptically, crossing large arms over his broad chest. “You sure?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Yes, Iron Bull, I am positive.”

“Well, I’ll be here if you need me.” Bull made to pat you on the back, but ultimately decided against it at the way you grasped your aching shoulder.

A bundled-up Ella rushed to your side and passed you your favorite boots with a dirty wink, one that the man next to you caught. She spun around and headed back to your tent through the falling snow covering her dark head of hair like the sprinkling of stars in a night sky.

“Ohhhhhhhhh… I see what’s goin’ on here,” Iron Bull said with a twinkle in his eye. “You guys a thing now?”

A blush spread across your cheeks and along the bridge of your nose. “No. Nonononono. I cannot attach myself to this place any more than I already have so I can go back home without leaving anyone behind.”

He ‘tsk’ed and shook his head. “That’s too bad.” At the guilty look you gave him, he cocked his head and crossed his arms. “You got to bang, though, right?”

You cast a glance around your person to make sure that nobody was listening in. “Yes. And I feel bad.”

The heartwarming chuckle he gave you caused you to relax under the weight of your actions. “Aw, lemme tell you something: sex is no big deal, alright? I dunno how people are back where you live, but—“

“A girl’s virginity is protected more than her life,” you deadpanned, eyes widening when Bull bent over and helped you pull your boots on in the most touching way, contrary to his overwhelming size.

“Well,” he assuaged, standing up to tower above you, “that really sucks. I wish everybody was under the Qun—you get to bang everybody and nobody gives a shit.”

You hummed as he steered you toward an overturned log. “Qunari do not fall in love?”

He motioned a hand to brush off your question. “Nah. Love is a bunch of bullshit.”

A crisp laugh resounded in your aching chest at the blunt truth of his words. “Heard _that_ , Bull.”

“Didn’t catch that,” he pointed out, “Sounds like you were speaking another language.” He held a teasing glint in his eye.

You shrugged your shoulders and gave him a wry smile, saying, “Was not that important, then.”

He mulled over your words for a minute with a finger on his chin. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me what _your_ home is like. I mean, you know everything about mine. Don’t you think it’s fair to return the favor?”

A mother and her daughter approached you to mutter prayers of good health and touch the hem of your robe in hopes of your “holiness” rubbing off on them.

You said nothing to them—just smiled as warmly as you could before the two of them left you alone with Iron Bull.

The man next to you nudged your unhurt shoulder and offered you a lilted brow when you finally met his gaze.

“Happen often?” he concluded, more a statement than a question.

“All the time, Iron Bull,” you responded with an exasperated sigh. “I do not know how much longer I can do this. I am going to end up…” You shook your head as if to shake away the thought. And the fact that you just weren’t ready to talk about that with anyone, especially _him_. A spy.

Trust was not something you could afford to give away to every person that smiled at you.

“Aw, come on, Boss! You’re the Herald of fuckin’ Andraste, friend of the both brave and handsome Iron Bull. If you wanted to, you could conquer the damn world,” he assured, pulling you to his side with an arm wrapped loosely around the lines of your shoulders. “We’re here for you, okay? Don’t ever doubt that.”

You couldn’t help the tears that fell from your weary eyes. 

* * *

You had fallen asleep on Bull’s shoulder mid-sentence, the events of the day finally catching up to you.

When you awoke, you were immediately being reprimanded by a worried healer and your advisors, chiding you for being on your feet so early after your severe injuries.

“You aren’t healed yet, Herald,” your healer hissed, readying a health poultice. “You can’t go running around camp and doing _strenuous activities_ —“ a sharp glare was directed towards Ella standing guard at the mouth of your tent ”—like before. Not for another few weeks at least. Your body isn’t as hardy as the rest of ours.”

“Her body’s _perfectly_ hardy, lady,” Ella muttered in English as she shot a knowing glance in your direction, and you pursed your lips to suppress a snicker once your healer directed her steely glare at you.

“No more passing out business for you, got it?” The woman jabbed a forefinger in your face, and you had half a mind to break it off, but ultimately decided against it.

She stalked out of the tent, shooting a final glare at Ella as she passed.


	10. Findings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella's still being a vague little shit, she gives you a nickname, and you figure some stuff out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait and the shortness of this chapter, but my motivation has slowed to a stop, and I've been really sick the last two weeks. 
> 
> I wanted to get something out this week, though, so here you go.

"I am going to freeze to death before we make it to Skyhold," you concluded, shrinking inside your borrowed fur coat, exhaling a puff of cold air. Smoke billowed from your lips and you scoffed. "This is—"

"Maker's ass, I'm about this close to bending you over my knee so you'll stop all this whining."

You stopped mid leg lift and turned to face him, a glare sharp as glass cutting through the crisp air. 

" _I think I have every fucking right to complain after I just saved all of your asses! Ungrateful pricks_ ," you spat in English, facing forward yet again and setting a brisk pace in the knee-deep snow. Your poor calf muscles were shrieking at you to please let them rest, and your knees were to give any—

Down you went, crumbling into the snow. 

"Fuck!" Your frustration was mounting, as if it weren't high enough already, and it only increased further when someone wrapped your arm around their shoulders and lifted you up. 

"I do not need help," you hissed, too exhausted to find the energy to pull your arm away.   

"Never said you needed help," Ella's smooth voice resounded in your ear. "Just wanted to find a reason to talk to you. Nobody's let me around you for days, (Name), and I think we need to talk about this whole 'how the fuck you got here' thing, 'cause frankly, you need to know." 

Another puff of smoke as you let out a weary sigh. 

"Sure. Set me on that tree over there and tell the group that their Herald needs to rest." You pointed to a nearby fallen tree trunk and leaned into her as she helped you to your seat.   

"Aye, guys! Andraste's Herald needs a break!" Ella called to the mass of followers, who had been puzzled as to why you two had stopped. Your advisors and companions either rolled their eyes or looked at you with much-needed concern. 

Okay, so you had been a bit of a bitch the past few days, but you had plenty of reasons! Not only had the burn of your hand gotten worse, your shoulder was killing you, the snow was killing you, the cold was killing you, and your friends were fucking. Killing. You. Everyone was so on-edge after what happened at Haven that nobody could put up with each other. The tension between your advisors was almost as strong as the tension in your muscles from the cold. 

"A wind whips against deaf ears, unknowing of the upcoming misfortune. She doesn't know. We will stop her with iron fists and an army of weapons."   

You glanced over out of the corner of your eye at Cole, where he sat next to you, skin almost transparent against the lifeless and snowy background.   

"What're you on about?" you asked, curling up your lip at the annoyance.  

Seemingly snapping out of a trance, he shook his head, casting his doe-eyed gaze about before leaning in and spouting out something in a language you had never heard. 

Then he disappeared just as Ella was approaching you with a warm blanket cradled against her chest.   

You noticed, however, that her once ash-colored eyes now resembled the remnants of a flame after it had been stomped out.   

"They care not one bit about you, then get angry when I do," she hissed in English, throwing the blanket around your shoulders and pulling your head protectively to her chest—or stomach, given that you were still sitting and she was standing strong in all her glory lit aflame. "My Eve, you're being used."

You swallowed thickly and listened to the sound of her heart beat against her ribs for a moment before answering.   

"I know," you lamented, trying your hardest to not start a fight with the only person who seemed to both understand you and care for you. 

"Yet you do nothing," she lowered herself onto her haunches, "and I don't understand why."   

"There's nothing I can do. People are depending on me. Those people back there are expecting me to stay strong and be the Herald of Andraste—"

"Don't call yourself that. You know that's a lie, Eve." The irritation screwing up her face confused you, and the way she was calling you 'Eve' settled an uneasy weight in the pit of your stomach.   

You shifted your gaze to your followers, good people patiently waiting for their Herald to collect her strength so they could keep moving. Like cattle... You closed your eyes and shook your head against your revelation: your followers were the literal embodiment of cattle. 

"Okay, so I'm not. But people are expecting me to be the Herald of Andraste they envision: an idol—a mascot, even an idea—who can do anything she wants; I'm supposed to be an unstoppable force who can save everyone along the way, build an army in Andraste's name, close the huge rift in the sky, and be okay with everything that's thrown at me, no matter how fucked up or how badly I want to just say "FUCK IT," because I have to be strong. And it's not fair. It's not fucking fair because I never even asked for this, because this isn't even my world to save, because I was at the right place at the wrong time, and you won't even tell me how I got there!" You took a moment to suck a much-needed breath back into your lungs after your lengthy monologue. "I am so tired, Ella, but I know that this is just the beginning... I wanna go home." 

"We're stuck here, kid." 

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself in a gesture that said you were closing off to the world. "Tell everyone to start marching." 

* * *

"I may be many things, but I am not stupid—"  

"Inquisitor, that thought never crossed any of our minds—"

"If you will let me finish, Commander," you hissed through grit teeth, still clutching the sword of the Inquisitor. You. The Inquisitor. You took a deep breath and began again, ignoring his high-browed stare of incredulity at your tartness. It had taken a lot of pep talks from Ella and a lot of speech practicing to be able to present and convey your feelings to them, and at that moment you were truly regretting it. The last thing you wanted was to step out of the circle of safety and trust your advisors kept you in. "As I was saying: I may be many things, but I am not stupid. I know when I am being used, and—" Ella give you strength, "I do not appreciate it at all. I was content with being used as an icon of this Inquisition because I knew that it came with the title Herald of Andraste, but now I am being used as a pawn. And that does not sit well with me. I highly suggest you pass this sword onto someone else more... important to you than I. Someone who is better suited to the job." 

"Inquisitor," you winced at your new title, "you don't seem to realize that we tried everyone else we thought seemed more... fit for the job." Always the bitch, Leliana. "But everyone refused us, and if we have to, we will not hesitate to keep you as a prisoner to the Inquisition and force you to serve as such." 

Your grip tightened into white knuckles against the hilt of the sword in your hand, and a bolt of panic shot through you. They wouldn't do that... Would they?

"They would a million times over if it meant slaying Corypheus, (Name). You know this, as well as I," Cole's voice resonated inside your mind. 

"Inquisitor," Cullen began, "we never meant for you to take our actions as anything but doing what was best for the sake of the Inquisition."

"Even if it means turning me into a puppet?"

"If that's what it takes," Cole reminded you.  

Josephine, once standing contently in the corner, stepped up to the war table, as if she was the mediator between two feuding families. 

"That never crossed our minds, Your Grace," Josephine said. 

"Inquisitor, what brought this on?" the Commander inquired, resting flattened palms against the table.   

Lowering your gaze to the sword within your hands, you fell silent. A pregnant silence fell ironically in the room, beating loudly in your ears. 

"I see," Leliana slowly muttered. "I knew that allowing her to overhear such things would eventually turn into this, but I was hoping she would prove me wrong." 

Your other two advisors shared a knowing glance between each other, clearly knowing the woman Leliana was referring to. 

Of course. Ella.   

"I knew that woman was trouble, spreading lies just to pit the Herald against us," the Commander hissed, slamming an angry fist upon the table, causing the mugs full of various liquids to rattle. Josephine subconsciously stretched out a hand to steady hers.

"She plays The Game well," Josephine complimented.

You took a swig of water from your mug and studied the faces of your advisors, knowing that you were utterly beaten. 

"Well. I suspect this meeting is over?"  

They all  nodded  their heads in unison. The blank look on your spymaster's face worried you more than the Commander's furious countenance. At least you knew what to expect from him. Leliana was an entirely different story.   

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Inquisitor," Leliana assured you, a hint of mischief in her voice.   

When everyone was dismissed, you were the first one to leave the room. the Commander followed right on your heels and steered you into the empty gardens.

The intensity in his eyes made his closeness even more intimidating as he hovered over you to keep his words away from eavesdropping ears. 

"Inquisitor, we've encountered a problem. There are two people here who say that they know you, but are threatening the safety of our people unless they speak with you."

You furrowed your brow and stared up at him in confusion. "Why is it a problem?"  

He stared into the distance above your head and blew a weary breath from his nose. "....They claim to be your parents."

Well, _fuck_.


	11. Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stupid Cullen, and you get to see your parents again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I actually posted this weekend. Thanks for all the lovely comments!

You hustled your way out of the gardens and headed toward the courtyard where the mass of Skyhold's population was, the Commander shoulder-to-shoulder with you. 

"Do they look like me?" you wondered aloud, not daring to turn your head toward him in fear of the sympathetic look he might have given you. 

"When I saw your 'father' it was like looking at the spitting image of you... You have his eyes, you know." 

"Mom always said that with me and him it was like looking into a mirror," you reminisced, a minute smile gracing your lips as you thought of them. "I have not seen them in over two years... They died back on Earth."

He stopped you, then, with a loose grip on your uninjured shoulder. "What was that?" 

You gulped, shrinking under his focused gaze. 

Oh, no.  

"I said that they died back on Earth," you reiterated, voice shaken under your mounting anxiety. "Why? Is something wrong?"

He blinked for a moment, and before your eyes you saw him transform back into the Commander of the Inquisition. He stepped away from you and placed both hands atop the hilt of the sword in his belt.   

"Of course not, Inquisitor. I suggest you return to your duties as quickly as possible. Josephine will most likely be looking for you."  

At that moment, you knew what was about to happen, and your mouth dropped open. 

_ "I suggest you go back to what you were doin', kid. We got a lil' present for your parents. Go play witcha brother'r somethin', alright?" _

No. You could have done something, anything. _But you were too small too weak too slow to stop them from taking what was theirs and stealing away the life of the people that mattered most in your world. No. No no nononononono._    

Nobody would take them from you again.

He saw the change in your countenance and was prepared to catch you around the waist when you attempted to catapult yourself past him. 

You pushed against his breastplate, but he held fast, wiry arms wrapped tightly around you, pressing you against him to the point that you could barely breathe.   

"Inquisitor, you're okay," he soothed in your ear, yet it just made you flail around even more. "Inquisitor, open your eyes."

_ Can't take them please don't take them same accent same breath in your ear SAME ASSURANCES THAT WONT  HELPANYMORE _

"(Name), you're safe."

"DONT HURT THEM PLEASEDONT HURT THEM—" 

"(Name), open your eyes."

Between gasping breaths and erratic thoughts, you managed to open tear-leaking eyes, although momentarily blinded by the sun's rays. You pinpointed golden hair and a fur mane and thoroughly-polished armor and then a voice that you could pick out within a crowd of people say your name, whisper it as if it was their lifeline. 

Fucking Cullen. 

"Cullen-" 

Cold leather pressed against your cheeks and cut your words off. 

"It's me, Inquisitor. I'm here." He breathed a sigh of relief. "My sincerest apologies for not expecting that sooner."

You merely blinked. "Expecting what?"

"Your episode," he sighed, lifting your hand and looking down at the mark dancing a sickly green against your skin and reflecting off of his breastplate. "Iron Bull informed me of it. Said that you had clear trauma from whatever you encountered back home. He told me to watch for signs at all times that you were to suffer one of these moments, but I simply forgot. So, my apologies I could not take care of it in the proper way." He shook his head and muttered under his breath, "You've burned your hand again." 

You stared down at your open palm where the outer layer of skin had dissolved away. It looked like a chemical burn. 

"I think," you began to hypothesize, for no reason other than to simply reroute your mind and make it forget about embarrassing itself in front of the Commander, "that this world—and the  Fade—knows that I am not supposed to be here and it does not want me here and I am being punished for it. Maybe the Mark is rejecting my body, or..." you trailed off, realizing how stupid you must have sounded. "I do not know."

Cullen furrowed his brow and gave you a once-over before standing up and you raising you onto shaky feet with his hands under your arms. "That sounds very likely to me... Are you alright? We should probably get you to a healer to check your hand."   

You nodded your head in acquiescence and surveyed your surroundings. In your fit, the Commander must have wrestled you behind the barn where prying eyes were not found.   

With reluctant acceptance, you managed to blurt out the words, "Thank you."

He simply gave you a slight, albeit warm, smile.   

You certainly didn't like him, but fuck everything, you couldn't bring yourself to hate him. He was trying to do what was best, always did what was best, and for that you could only respect the man. No matter how bigoted and pretentious he could be.

You were going to ask him if your parents were actually here when you heard your name being called. 

Ella rushed over to you, pushing through a crowd of refugees that had just made Skyhold their new haven, fresh off numerous carts. 

"Inquisitor, we need to tend to these refugees," Commander Cullen said, pulling you back with a tight grip on your arm. 

" _Listen, (Name), I think it's time to spill everything because your visitors are threatening to kill some people until they see you,_ " Ella quickly announced in English, sparing a venomous glare at the hand Cullen had on your arm. "If you would, Commander."   

"The Inquisitor has important business to tend to, Ella," Cullen argued, to which your "lover" raised both brows in mocking. 

"If the 'important business' involves you bending her over your desk, she isn't interested," Ella retorted, flashing her best shit-eating grin. "Now, Commander, if you would."   

The glare he gave her could have made the toughest man between both of your worlds wet his pants, but she stood strong and did nothing but cross her arms. A comedic red blush spread across his cheeks, and he eventually let you go, turning you over to Ella.   

"Very well. Just don't go gallivanting off, please. Make sure to bring the Inquisitor back."  

He left in a whirlwind of fury and humiliation, and you turned to Ella with eyes stretched wide in horror. 

"Ella. That's my Commander. He just helped me through a very bad episode of PTSD, I'm pretty sure, and you accuse him of wanting to fuck me over a table!"   

"Number one: because he does. And number two: he needs to be knocked down a few pegs."

"I agree with the number two; not so sure about the number one."  

The disbelieving look she gave you as she led you amongst the group of fresh refugees almost made you want to laugh. "There ya go, Eve, being ignorant and naïve. Why do you think I started calling you that in the first place? Anyways, it's clear to anyone with eyes and ears that he's infatuated with you. It's actually pretty weird."

You groaned, a sudden realization sparking your brain into overload. "It's not me he's infatuated with. It's the idea of me: The Herald of Andraste and the Inquisitor. Savior of Thedas. Underdog hero. Otherworlder." The last word was hissed from your mouth with a disdain that could not rivaled. The voice of Corypheus I using that name to mock you resonated within the deep recesses of your mind and you found yourself shaking your head in disgust.

"(Name), is that—oh, Maker!" A force crushed against your chest and you reeled back, throwing your arms around the person to steady you both.   

"Oh, my baby!" you mother shrieked, pulling you in close. "You shouldn't be here, baby. What are you doing here? How are you here?"  

You furrowed your brow and looked at her. She actually aged, as if she had been living even after her Earthly death. It was so scary.   

"How are you here? You died." 

She averted her gaze to your hands and wrapped yours in her larger ones, squeezing your palms for dear life. 

"I never thought you would be here, sweetheart. You weren't supposed to find out. Not this early...."   

You let out a sigh of frustration. "I do not understand what you are talking about."  

"Oh, dear, your accent," she muttered, screwing her face up in a cringe. "We need to work on that."

"The Commander said that, too," you muttered bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest. "Actually, everyone has said that."  

"I'll help you, sweetheart," she cooed, patting you assuredly on the back. 


	12. Parents II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and your parents try to figure out what the hell is going on.

The next day, you reluctantly met with your advisors about the situation with your parents. Josephine warned you about their presence being a danger to both the Inquisition's safety and its reputation, but you quickly countered her rightful accusation with observations of your own.  

 

"If my time spent in organizations and gangs taught me one thing, it is that fear breeds both respect and obedience: two things the Inquisition needs if it is going to rise to its full potential, do you not agree?"  

 

The masked—because it's her—look of surprise on Leliana's face at your quick-witted explanation made a swell of pride fill your chest.  

 

"You are finally learning to play The Game. Congratulations, Inquisitor," Leliana said, impressed with your sudden change to front-seat leadership.  

 

"I have been playing The Game since I turned thirteen years old, Leliana. That is what you do not understand. I know all of the tricks of the trade from my time back on Earth," you explained coolly, folding tired arms across your chest.  

 

"As I can see. It's too bad it took you so long to reveal these things to us. Who knows what else you're hiding," the spymaster pondered, drumming gloved fingers against the surface of the table.  

 

"Not much outside of that, I can assure you." 

 

Both of you chuckled.  

 

Josephine and the Commander shared an amused look at your friendly banter.  

 

A knock sounded at the door before your mother was marched in by a sullen Templar, your father close behind her with a hand on her shoulder.  

 

"The pri-" you watched the Commander shoot the Templar a warning look, "-guests, as you requested." 

 

You looked at your mother as she stood next to you, clutching your wrist in a desperate grip. Her chin was tilted up in a gesture of defiance, and you sighed. That was why she was killed the first time: her stubbornness and _defiance_.  

 

Your father, however, leveled a gaze of disdain at your Commander, resting a large hand upon your shoulder in comfort—whether it was for you or him, you didn't know.  

 

"Guys," you spoke to them in English, intent on leaving your advisors out of, what you suspected was going to be, a very intimate conversation between you and your dead-for-two-years parents. "I'm fine." 

 

Your mother was the first to speak. She angled her head down and turned your cheek with the tips of two fingers, then brushed soft knuckles along a freshly-made cut on your cheekbone.  

 

"Don't tell me you're okay, [Name]. You look as if you haven't slept in weeks, your arm is in a _sling_ , and you are bruised and scarred from head-to-toe." 

 

"Honey, she knows," your father intervened, pulling his wife to him.  

 

When your father hugged you to him also, the feeling of human contact after so long made you realize just how lonely you were. Though you were surrounded by hundreds of people every day, had followers rivaling the census of countries, you had never felt more alone. It seemed as if your advisors only cared about the less important people, questioned if _they_ were happy, unknowing of their Herald's declining mental state, nor did any of them seem to _care_. 

 

The three of you didn't part until Cullen cleared his throat uncomfortably, to which your father narrowed his eyes at him.  

 

"It isn't like I haven't seen my daughter in two years or anything," he deadpanned in Common, turning Cullen's face red with shame.  

 

"I just thought you would want to end this meeting as soon as possible so you could have time to spend together," Cullen replied.  

 

Oh no. Your father definitely knew. How could he not know? He had to have known when a man wanted to court a woman. After all, he managed to date and marry your mother.  

 

You hadn't believed it at first—the... infatuation your Commander had harbored for you. Yet the more wary your father got when you were in the presence of Cullen, the more you came to realize he had to have been cautious about something.  

 

It was frustrating.  

 

The Templar that came with them rushed your parents out of the room after a swift goodbye and left you with little more than your mother's sweet perfume as a reminder of her presence.  

 

“Now that _that’s_ over,” Josephine took a deep, steady breath, "we would like to further discuss your position as Inquisitor.” 

 

“Given your inexperience, you won’t have to do anything besides stands there and look pretty,” Leliana elaborated. “We will do all of the behind-the-scenes work.” 

 

You ran your tongue over your top front teeth to keep it from saying anything stupid. Your advisors simply looked at each other in the pregnant silence.  

 

“So I am the Inquisitor, but I am not,” you deduced quietly, wholeheartedly trying to mask your utter disappointment and irritation at their announcement.  

 

“In a way, yes,” Josephine said, and you looked over to find her chewing on the inside of her cheek and tapping her quill nervously against the wood of her clipboard. 

 

You clicked your tongue and, with a swift nod of your head, said, “ _Okay_ ,” in English.  

 

Josephine stopped the others when they almost intervened as you walked calmly from the room.  

 

Your anger could have burned down all of fucking Skyhold in a reign of fiery fury at that very moment.  

 

Thank both God and the Maker that you didn’t come to this world a mage or exactly that would have happened.  

 

* * *

 

 

 

You and your parents met later that week behind the stables to discuss your predicament in relative peace. With everyone settling into Skyhold, you hadn't a moment's peace since you arrived, with war meetings and everyone and their dog looking to you for guidance. And the prayers and brushes of hands against your clothing and _hand_ were getting to be too frequent for your liking. You actually heard a woman praying on behalf of _your_ name on your way to the stables. Oh, and you were the damn Inquisitor. Had the sword and everything.  

 

Given all of that, it was rare to find peace anymore.  

 

"There are two things your mother and I wish to discuss with you," your father began, then stepped aside to allow your mother to take over.  

 

She stared at him before realization hit her. "Oh, yes! I'll explain the first since your father can't explain anything to save his life. He was never a big talker, even in coll—right. The thing we talked about." 

 

You looked at your mother expectantly, and she held her hands out in front of her then lowered her head, as if to prepare for the momentous declaration she was about to bestow upon you.  

 

"I believe this is a limbo, of sorts." 

 

You snorted incredulously and shook your head. It was at that moment you knew she was going to spout some religious bullshit to justify all of you being there.  

 

"Okay," she continued hurriedly, "I know it sounds crazy, but in the Bible Jesus talks about a Judgement Day where everyone who has ever lived will be judged. So, I wondered: what happens to us while we wait for Judgement Day?" She paused, expecting you to answer. You didn't, utterly astounded at how correct you were, so she answered for you. "Limbo! This! Thedas! Whatever this place is called!"  

 

You gave your father a quizzical look, but he simply shook his head and shrugged her off with a literal shrug of his shoulders.  

 

"I dunno, Mom. This place seems pretty real to me." You motioned to your hurt arm, still in its sling, to illustrate your observation.  

 

"That's because it _is_ real, sweetheart! I just don't believe you were supposed to play such a big part in it. That's one reason why this Corypheus is so adamant on killing you." 

 

"That and the Mark," you added, suddenly screwing your face up in pain when the Mark flared to life at your acknowledgement of it. "Stupid magic." 

 

"Does it hurt that bad?" your father pondered, reaching for the hand in question.  

 

You stepped back out of his reach. "It hurts even more when someone _touches_ it."   

 

He hummed in understanding and allowed his hand to drop back down by his side.  

 

You turned to your mother and decided to play along with her ridiculous idea. "Okay, say this is limbo. Say everyone from Earth that has died goes here. If that's true, where is everyone?" 

 

Your mother shook her head in disagreement. "No. It isn't that simple. I believe that someone from back home connected this world to ours only recently." 

 

"Within the last two or three years," you finished.  

 

"Exactly. I just don't know how." 

 

You let out a sigh of disbelief and shook your head. "Mom. You're starting to sound like someone who wears tin foil hats and believes the aliens are going to come and rescue us." 

 

"Not aliens," she corrected, "but the Herald of Andraste." 

 

Oh, shit. You swiftly shut down the many retorts that were readying themselves on your tongue.  

 

"You think that I can save our world?" She nodded her head. "How?" 

 

She vaguely motioned to the sky and the sickly green swirl of condensed Fade in the midst of overcast clouds, and you wanted to vomit.  

 

"With the Breach?" 

 

"Why not, sweetheart? There's a reason God or the Maker or whoever runs this place chose an 'otherworlder' to do His bidding." 

 

You furrowed your brow and cast a long gaze to the sky, your Mark's power festering under the skin of your palm. "What's the reason?" 

 

She simply shrugged her shoulders and gave your uninjured hand a soft, comforting squeeze. "That's for _you_ to find out." 

 


	13. Pity Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rift opens in the courtyard, and Cole causes nontraditional bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. This. Chapter. It's very messed up, but necessary.
> 
> *Please navigate this chapter with caution. Near the end, there is some very dark material concerning rape.

After your stunt at Haven, the Mark had begun to spread a small bit with each rift you closed. After you and your companions made it back from Crestwood, the Mark had carved a path down onto your wrist, and it seemed to be following the pattern of your veins.  

Poisoning you, probably.  

The burn had cleared more and more on your hand with the more rifts you closed, and you had a faint wondering of why in the hell you were being punished so severely for both closing and not closing rifts.  

Oh, yeah. Fade magic.  

It was, however, a large surprise to you when, after the Commander's incessant berating on how much more careful you should have been and Cassandra's flocking to you like a mother hen for the remainder of the day over your worsening condition, you woke to shouting and a panicked hand shaking your shoulder.  

A rift had opened in the fucking courtyard.  

Skyhold was a clusterfuck, consisting of screaming children, a handful of dead soldiers, and Cassandra giving you a look that wrung fear from your tired bones as the both of you high-tailed it to the courtyard. You had been given just enough time to throw on a silken robe over your other Orlesian silks before you were dragged unceremoniously from your room and into the outside world, which was currently shrouded in chaos.  

"Maker, how could this happen?" the Seeker asked, angling her head upward, the Breach aswirl amidst the stars and sky the color of Josephine's blackest ink.  

You felt the Breach before you could see it, a sharp pain—like knives—springing up on your palm and wrist. You almost felt as if it was align with your heartbeat, thrumming along to the song in your veins, alive in some macabre way.  

Cassandra cast a cautious glance in your direction and she subconsciously rested a hand at the small of your back. "Are you well, Inquisitor?" 

"I am quite afraid, but well."  

... You had not the faintest idea as to why you would tell her that you were afraid - the Inquisitor was not to be afraid, or show emotion at all, for that matter. You were holy, after all. Maybe it was because you felt the need to tell someone, or maybe it was her recent actions toward you that made you think she actually cared. Either way, she furrowed her brow and gave a soft grunt in acknowledgement.  

 In horror, you descended the steps into the courtyard and watched as your friends—no, companions, for you had not the time in Thedas nor the life to be seeing them as such—attempt to fight off a Pride Demon. Sera let it get far too close before leaping back at a safe distance and hurling another volley of arrows in its direction, Solas was too busy trying to keep barriers up on everyone to do much fighting, and the Inquisition soldiers within the demon's reach were swiftly struck down by its lightning whip (seriously, a whip?). 

Both you and Cassandra wasted no time in rushing to your companions' sides. When the Pride Demon saw you, however, it unleashed a booming laugh that shook Skyhold to its rafters. Always the fucking Pride Demons, huh? 

"Thank the Maker there aren't any lakes around," Varric jested when he finally saw you.  

You gave him a glare in response and approached the rift, heart stammering in your chest.  

"Keep that thing away from me while I get its guard down!" you called to everyone within the nearest vicinity, voice still hoarse from the deep sleep you were awakened from.  

Everyone that had just noticed you gave you a quick greeting (you noted that there were voices you didn't recognize—ones you would have to learn the names to later), and, of course, the Commander began quickly firing off orders to his troops.  

You reached out to the rift with your fade-touched hand and almost lost your resolve when you could feel yourself being pulled towards it, your slippered feet sliding across the dirt. A hand finally twisted into the back of your robe and kept you grounded as a crescendo built within your ears. Could other people hear the incessant buzzing and rising pitches the rift created?  

You could feel when the rift was right at the crest of weakening, so you yanked your arm back and collapsed against a feminine body with a thump when the pull of the rift wasn't acting against you.  

The Pride Demon let out a mighty roar as it collapsed onto one knee, your companions immediately flocking over to where it kneeled, vulnerable, as you focused on regaining your strength.  

"You okay?" You turned around to find Ella hovering worriedly over you, staring down at the Mark that pulsed to the rhythm of your heartbeat, waxing and waning green light from where it had burst open. "Oh, shit. That doesn't look good." She looked up to spare a glance at your face. "Come to think of it, you don't look too good, either. Need me to fetch a healer?" 

" _There's nothing they can do, Ella. It's been like this for days,_ " you replied, too exhausted to translate and grit out broken Common. " _It keeps spreading, and I don't understand._ " 

"Seems like you don't understand anything nowadays," she said, her lips quirking into a rueful grin.  

You wanted to wipe that smile off of her face, but she decided to do it for you.  

You had no time to protest when her lips met yours in a soft brush of chapped skin, and you instinctively surged forward, suddenly forgetting all about the battle waging around you.  

She danced skillfully around your assertions and pressed her lips to your ear. "Eyes, _Inquisitor_."  

The purring way in which she said your title sounded as if she were vocalizing sin itself in three syllables, damn her.  

You lurched back as if you had been slapped, suddenly coming to your surroundings. The Pride Demon had regained its strength, stalking along the courtyard and striking your companions with an anger you no doubt instilled into it. Damn it, how long had they been fighting for both your life and theirs while you were off to the side drowning yourself in some woman?  

Ella helped you up with an arm wrapped snugly about your waist, and you extended your hand yet again, gritting your teeth against the pain that surged up your arm and through the rest of your body like an electrical current replaced with stabbing knives. You felt as if you were to pass out at any moment from the strain on your body.  

By the third wave, the Pride Demon was using up the last of its energy, and to make up for it, the rift summoned Shades and those stupid fucking branch-like demons that you never actually inquired the name of; they didn't deserve that credit.  

Because of the predicament you were in, Ella was called to assist Leliana's spies in dealing with the extra demons, leaving you considerably vulnerable to attack.  

The mages of your party, Solas and another man you had yet to know the name of, came to both protect you and retreat from the advancing creatures. From where everyone else stood, however, it simply looked as if they were adjusting to the enemy's sudden need for movement around the courtyard. Your pride as Inquisitor and Herald were saved to be shattered another day.  

In between spells, the mage you hadn't a clue about began speaking to you in a crisp accent that you found quite pleasing to listen to. "If you could close that thing, I would very much appreciate it."  

You sighed in irritation at his forthright attitude. Who was he, anyways? "I have to wait for all the demons to be struck down, Sir." 

He gave you a startled expression. "Ser? It wouldn't do for your sheep to hear you call me that, I assure you. Though that would be a pleasant sight to behold, watching every noble in Skyhold shitting their pants at the sight of the Inquisitor being polite to an _altus_ of all things." 

What the fuck was he talking about? 

The only other thing that crossed your mind was how pissed off you were. Were you so out of the loop that you didn't know when a new— _obviously important_ —member joined the Inquisition? How much had they been keeping from you? Besides, weren't you the one that got the Inquisition thus far? You made a mental note to express your discrepancies over their secrets later, after the fighting was over. 

With a final mighty roar, the Pride Demon collapsed to the ground, its body dissipating into dust before its Fade energy was sucked back into the rift.  

The rift burst open to signify the finality of the demons, almost beckoning you with an imaginary hand. The headache-induced buzzing in your ears almost morphed into the words _come home child you know you want to you can leave this all behind and come back if you just—_  

"Inquisitor, you must hurry," Solas's calming voice in your ear shook you out of your Fade-caused reverie. 

"Please do not make me," you whispered, unsure if he could hear you over the sound of the rift, though you could not bring yourself to care.  

"I can lessen the pain enough that nobody shall know, _da'len_ ," he assured you, circled cold fingers around your marked wrist, startling you when you felt the healing magic pumping under your skin as he lifted your hand to the rift.  

You buried your head into the silken robe on your shoulder and grit your teeth on the fleshy inside of your arm. It hurt, hurt so much more than breaking your skin with your own teeth. Felt as if your soul was being torn from your body, felt like you were being skinned alive and scalped as old magic shot through you like a lightning bolt. It would have been even worse without Solas there.  

The elf immediately stepped back and you collapsed to the ground, screeching _help me it hurts oh god someone kill me_ as you felt the mark slice deeper into your arm, somewhere between being butchered by a large knife and holding a lighter to your skin, marring you even more.  

When the Mark had finished tattooing your skin, the green light quickly diminished as it fell into hibernation.  

"Goodness! Is-is it always like this?" you heard a crisp voice ask through what sounded like cotton in your ears.  

"Since Haven, yeah." That was Iron Bull's voice. You'd know that anywhere, or maybe it was because he sounded closer to you. Then he rested a warm palm against your back, reassuring, saying _I'm here it's okay I'm so sorry_ , and you knew for sure. "Poor kid didn't do anything to deserve this. You should've seen it when it first happened. Everybody was scared shitless. Sera over there even cried."  

"You almost did, too, you tit!" 

A cloak was draped over both your back and Bull's comforting hand, which was now rubbing slow strokes over your spine. You knew you should get up, had to get up eventually, but you were so mortified you wished for "the Maker" himself to come down from the Heavens and strike you where you lay.  

"How many saw?" you finally managed to croak out, pulling your injured hand to you as Bull helped you sit up on your haunches.  

"More people than you probably would have liked to, but those who knew what was coming managed to get most of them away. Anybody says anything about what happened here, Red'll cut 'em down, so I wouldn't worry 'bout it."  

An unexpected wind cut through your thin silks, and you shivered, pulling the Commander's cloak closer to you.  

"Red looks quite well on you," the man with the impeccable mustache and pleasant voice commented, leaning against his staff.  

"Who _are_ you?" you asked, tone more biting than intended.  

His brows raised for just a moment in surprise before he composed himself. "Ah, yes. I do suppose introductions are in order?" With a mighty flourish and extravagant bow, he said, "Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. I would ask 'how do you do' but I see you aren't doing too well." 

Despite all odds, a small smile sprung to your face, and you held out a hand for him to shake. "[Name], or as everyone else knows me, Inquisitor, or if you want, Herald of Andraste." You had a brief thought of wondering how many of your companions even remembered your name.  

He gave you an inquisitive look and took your hand. "Would you like me to pull you up, or...?" 

"You're supposed to shake it. One of those weird greetings they do back where she's from," Iron Bull whispered to him.  

"'Weird' indeed," yet he shook your hand anyway. "If you need anything of me, Inquisitor, I shall be amongst the books in the library."  

You waited a moment until he was out of earshot and turned to Bull. "How long has he—" 

"Worry about him later," he said with a wave of his hand. "You should get back in bed." 

"It would not do for me to be sick again, would it?" you pondered, allowing the qunari to help you to your wobbly feet.  

"I can take her," Cullen offered as he began walking over, looking quite odd without the fur cloak sitting atop his shoulders, and you internally groaned. What now?  

Despite the look of warning you were giving him, Bull offered you to the Commander and shouted "Chargers!" in greeting to his company a little ways off before strolling away to regroup with them.  

The silence that followed could have murdered innocent puppies within the mixture of Cullen's sheer awkwardness and your irritation at being left with him. You deigned to bury your nose into the warmth of the fur collar when a breeze blew against your frozen cheeks, growing amused at the smell of hair pomade that invaded your senses, along with less amusing scents like blood and sweat and what you guessed was armor polish.  

You _knew_ his hair wasn't naturally that pompadoured! 

Despite yourself, you leaned into his side when your knees began to buckle, white-knuckling the edges of his cloak with your good hand. He wrapped an arm around the line of your shoulders and led you carefully up the steps and into the Great Hall.  

"I think I can manage from here," you sighed, blinking against a wave of exhaustion that almost knocked you over.  

"I, um. Must talk with you about," he cleared his throat when you gave him a sidelong glare that silently begged him to just spit it out. "I would rather discuss this in your, uh, quarters." You scowled when he glanced away and a blush spread across his face.  

You looked around at the mostly empty hall and turned back to him. "There are maybe one or two people here. Everyone else has gone to bed." After the huge fight and the rift causing mass hysteria a mere half hour ago, you had no idea how they could already be asleep. But most of those usually occupying the Great Hall didn't actually participate in the fight, so you guess it made sense?  

"Yes, but—" 

Not able to stand another round of his incessant stuttering, you shrugged off his fur mantle—you hated to see it go, given how warm it was—and tossed it atop his head. "Let us go, then."  

He followed behind you as you ascended the steps to your room, and you heard him mutter a _Maker's breath_ as he looked around the admittedly extravagant space.  

"They definitely spared no expense," he said, drumming his fingers along the foot-board of your too-large bed.  

"I think they did this so I would leave everyone alone," you jested while you removed your robe and ruined slippers, throwing them off to a corner somewhere.  

He sighed resignedly. "I'm sorry you think that." 

"Why do _you_ think they did it?" 

"I know for a fact that the workers did it because they wanted to do something kind for the person that just saved their lives." 

"For the _person_ or the _Herald_?" you questioned bitterly.  

He said nothing, simply looked at you, as if he were anticipating your rant that most definitely followed.  

"It seems as if nobody sees me as a person anymore. Just a symbol or an icon of the flesh that they can mold and shape however they please." 

"Do you not think people need that? Someone or something bigger than they are? A figurehead that will lead them to be greater than they once were in times of strife?" 

"I am just. One. Girl." 

He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it with a soft click of his teeth.  

"What did you even need to talk about, Commander?" Frustratingly, the irritation in your voice was back.  

"I—will... tell you later, Inquisitor. You should get some rest." He spoke quietly, as if he had been defeated by some entity that you couldn't see. Maybe it was something inside his mind.  

"Is it about your withdrawal?" 

The muscle in jaw clenched and his whole body froze. "How did you...?" 

"I know the signs of addiction from my time on Earth."  

"I—yes. I just... wanted to make it official to you that I have stopped taking lyrium, and if anything happens, Cassandra is going to elect an indefinite replacement." 

The breath was expelled from your lungs in a solemn sigh, and you hung your head. You had hoped that it wasn't what was wrong with him. You knew how cruel drug withdrawal could be from seeing your friends go through it at times where certain drugs weren't attainable. It was so hard to watch someone you cared about be reduced to the shell of a person, of their former self. You knew the signs: bed-ridding headaches, vomiting, aches and pains, the intense cravings that drove one friend to injure you when you withheld him from it— _you don't need it you don't need it ow you're hurting me that hurts stop I'm trying to help—_  

"I have watched friends die over their addictions," you resigned to say after not knowing _what_ to say. "You are so so so brave, and I want you to know that I am very proud of you." 

In a puff of smoke, Cole appeared next to you. "Yes, you _do_ have more in common than you think. _Please stop stop stop stop I said no why does it feel good it shouldn't feel so good—_ "  

"Cole, that's enough," both of you protested simultaneously, but he ignored the warnings and turned to you.  

"He loved your skin and the smell of your shampoo and he wanted to get rid of that smile so he snatched it from you and took everything you had to give, hiding behind words like _it'll feel better in a minute every girl bleeds the first time if you want to keep yourself safe you have to do this oh you came didn't you you're so wet so tight—_ " 

You finally snapped out of shock and sucked in a deep, panicked breath. "Cole! Stop it! Those are _my_ memories." 

"Yes, and they're holding you back. You need to forgive and forget. It'll help." Then he turned to Cullen, who was ferociously inspected the paperwork at your desk in an attempt to not look at you. "It's her but it's not her and it feels good but I know it shouldn't she says _do you like this how about this I'm making you a man now_ then she uses her mouth then tight wet heat and _I couldn't get away hate myself for not getting away I said no stop please I don't want this—_ " 

You clamped a hand onto the spirit's mouth and shushed him, watched as he disappeared into thin air with a puff of smoke and a goodbye of, "Help each other heal." 

There was a pregnant pause as you mulled over what you could possibly say to comfort him. You had no clue that he had gone through something similar to you, and a pang of guilt settled in your chest. How mean you had been to him when you had no idea he was battling a past _and_ an addiction. How you had probably been the first woman he could look at without seeing _her_ —maybe that was just you with _him_ —and everyone had been embarrassing him over it. He didn't deserve it.  

Nobody _ever_ deserves it.  

"I am very sorry—" 

"I'm so sorry—" 

You looked up and caught his gaze after speaking the same words at the same time.  

"I guess the nightmares are even worse now that you are not taking lyrium."  

He gave a short, bitter laugh and crumpled up the papers in his fist.  

"Cullen, those are important—" 

"Good night, Inquisitor," he said, dropped your marriage proposals back onto the desk, and left in a rush, forgetting his fur mantle slung over the back of your chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... I guess I've been in a very dark place recently because of recent events in my life, and I was planning on Cullen and Reader having a conversation concerning their experiences later on in the story (I actually wrote a different ending to this chapter), but my muse insisted that Cole be the one to bring it up at this point to, well, not necessarily get it out of the way, but to leave Cullen and Reader's relationship open for later chapters. This was pretty much solidifying what I had hinted at in earlier chapters: Reader was taken advantage of after her parents died in return for her safety; and I feel as if what happened with Cullen NEEDS to be addressed and talked about, hopefully allowing him to heal. It just turned out the way it did. Sometimes characters do as they please, no matter how frustrating it can be to read/write.
> 
> ***(This does not in any way mean they will end up together.)***
> 
> On a lighter note, I read back through this story tonight and noticed that halfway through, my style does a complete 180. One chapter is very simple and light-hearted, and the next it's extremely complicated and much darker. I must've grown a lot within a week. 
> 
> Next chapter will definitely be Reader bonding with her companions. It's what she really needs after all this shit. So, expect 3,000+ words of fluff next time to make up for all this darkness.
> 
> Leave me some feedback/comments/questions, and if you want, send prompts at my tumblr: uhright.tumblr.com
> 
> Love you guys. Y'all are awesome.


	14. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You bond with Varric and Solas and wonder exactly how you're going to get Cullen's mantle back to him.

You woke with a knot of dread in the pit of your stomach. How were you going face Cullen after what happened, let alone give him back the stupid mantle he left on your chair? 

To start the day, you washed up and decided on a simple shapeless gown in a color that transformed you into a walking Breach - a sickly green sent to you as a gift from a woman whose farm you had helped take back from demons in the Hinterlands.  

Bless Blackwall for duplicating, as closely as he could, a toothbrush for you to use. The whole lack of plumbing thing still grossed you out, even after being here for months, and you always forced your companions to bathe at least every other day while you were out traveling. Bathing once a week did not appeal to you whatsoever, and you refused to travel with someone that didn't wash themselves regularly. Hygiene was not important to the people of this world, which you did not understand. Granted, the last year or so on Earth didn't give you time to be as clean as you liked, but Thedas had lakes and streams and rivers and bodies of cleansing water everywhere. And the ability to melt the feet upon feet of snow with fire magic? These people had no excuse.  

You shook your head and shrugged a long cardigan over your dress to combat your lack of sleeves and the cold weather of Skyhold. Solas would have been quite amused with your outfit right now, given how you fit his earthy, made-my-own-clothing style.  

Madame de Fer would have been less than thrilled with your choices.  

Before you left to go see your apostate friend, you cast a glance at your chair where the mantle sat untouched. With narrowed eyes, you thought that if you were someone akin to Sera, you would smother the fur in the most feminine perfume you had to spark rumors of a secret lover; if you were a mage, you would set the damn thing on fire.  

You were someone almost akin to Sera before realizing that you wouldn't be able to use that perfume anymore - Bull would notice how alike both you and the Commander smelled, which would not bode well for either of you.  

You took a deep breath and shook your head to clear the thoughts of sabotage. He was also dealing with a lot of shit at the moment and probably, maybe, _simply_ didn't want to hear about yours. Maybe that was why he left when you offered him concern and a shoulder to lean on. Maybe he just wasn't used to it. Maybe, maybe, maybe.  

It didn't matter anyways. He was _him_ , a man that you only begrudgingly respected because of his heroism at Haven... and his bravery for stopping the chain of addiction.  

"He isn't angry with you," Cole said, appearing behind you in the mirror. You had gotten so used to his presence that you barely flinched. "I helped him. Told him you wanted to help. Now he just feels guilty.... And he misses his cloak. The soldiers are starting rumors, you know." 

You met Cole's pale eyes in the mirror, watched something akin to sadness flicker in them. Sighing, you carded your hands through your newly-brushed hair and said, " _You're making me feel guilty_."  

He looked at you, startled, before sagging his shoulders. "I've been saying all the wrong things lately. I don't know what's wrong with me." 

You shrugged your shoulders as you slipped on a pair of slippers. " _Maybe you need a break like all people do_." 

"People...?" His whole countenance brightened at the word once he realized your underlying meaning.  

" _Of course_." You slapped your thigh as a sudden idea invaded your thoughts. " _Why don't we go ice skating tomorrow? There's a lake about a mile from Skyhold we could go to._ " 

"I... Yes, I would very much like that. You would, too." 

You smiled and pulled him close for a moment before he dissipated into dust.  

As you headed toward Solas's rotunda, you made the decision to skip breakfast that morning and, in turn, all of the curious glances you would have gotten from both friends and followers alike. Maybe your elven companion had those tasty mini Orlesian cakes you liked so dearly from the kitchen.  

With a quick flash of Stealth, you managed to sneak your way past the people in the Great Hall (if anyone sensed you, they said nothing, which you were ultimately grateful for) and slink into the rotunda where Solas stood over his desk, reading a tome over the Fade or something.  

"Greetings, _da'len_. Did you sleep well?" he said, before you even revealed yourself to him a moment later. The bastard didn't even look up.  

"Yes. Thank you for asking. That is actually why I came to you. I wanted to talk about the Mark." 

He finally glanced up from his reading and gave you an unreadable look. "What about it?" 

You shuffled nervously from foot to foot before quickly approaching him, lifting up the sleeve to your cardigan. Branching from your palm, long strands of white scarred the inside of both your wrist and your arm from where the Mark had, well, marked you. They would break open like a freshly-healed wound whenever a rift was nearby, or if you paid it too much attention. For now, the Mark lay dormant upon your skin, a slight thrum of heat its only reaction to being slightly acknowledged.  

And then you must have acknowledged it too much, because the scars were suddenly wrenched open with a large crack, and green light spilled upon the walls of the rotunda, turning even the atmosphere of both the library above and Leliana's space above that a sickly green.  

"Is there any way you can help stop it from spreading?" you whispered, aware of the curious ears residing in the library above the two of you.  

The smallest hint of a smile lit up his face, and he pressed a finger to the open page of his tome to keep his place before turning to the cover and allowing you to read the name.  

... It was a tome over the Fade.  

"After last night's events, I figure it best to educate you on the secrets of the Fade," he explained, turning back to where he left off. 

"Once I make sure this has all the information you need, I want you to keep it." 

Your brows raised at his sudden kindness.  

"Oh, thank you. That makes sense." 

"Knowledge is power, especially in your position," Solas reminded you before offering you a tray of - _gasp!_ \- mini Orlesian cakes! 

"Yes!" you hissed, plucking one from the platter with a content smile. "You know my love for sweets." 

"Orlesian sweets, especially," he added, setting the tray in front of you on his desk. "As I was saying - Inquisitor, please refrain from eating over the tome - if you gather a more extensive knowledge of the Fade, I believe you can combat some of your... problems with the Mark." 

"Much appreciated," you mumbled, reaching to grab another treat from the array of choices at your disposal. One of them looked to be a croissant.  

How interesting. The Orlesians parallel French society to an extent. 

"French?" Solas asked, giving a curious sidelong glance in your direction.  

You had spoken aloud. Damn it. "Yes, French. A people from my world similar to Orlesians."  

"Interesting indeed. I think Varric would very much enjoy hearing stories from your world. Maybe you should discuss such things with him?"  

You narrowed your eyes and stole a few more pastries off of his tray before stuffing them into the pockets of your cardigan. "I know when I am not wanted somewhere. Enjoy your book!" 

"Lovely outfit choice, by the way," he commented on your way back into the Great Hall, and you had no choice but to laugh at how he had noticed your style.  

- 

You decided to stop by Varric's table on your way back to your room. There he sat, writing vigorously on a piece of parchment, brows furrowed in deep thought. He looked up as you approached and shook his head in defeat.  

"You are one person that I cannot, for the life of me, seem to figure out." 

You accepted the seat diagonal to him he motioned to and folded your arms atop the wood of the table. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, I've been able to pin everyone down from the beginning, but you are one girl that I can't nickname." 

You had to laugh at that. "So that is what this is about?" you inquired, leering over the table at the parchment he was writing on, amused at the marked-through words listed down the page. 

"You're frustrating me, Inquisitor," he muttered half-jokingly, running a hand down his face. 

"Call me, I do not know, my name?" 

"Nah, too formal." 

You gave him an incredulous look. "You just call me Inquisitor, Varric." 

"It's _a enwir_ , not _enw_. You use past tense." 

You sighed and rested your chin on your arms. "I always mix tenses up." 

"Learning a different language is pretty hard. To be honest, I don't know how you got this far."  

"Two words: Josephine Monilyet." You shook your head. "That woman is a gift."  

He gave a low chuckle. "Ruffles knows what she's doing, that's for damn sure. 

An awkward silence ghosted between the two of you for a long few minutes before you suddenly remembered why you had come to speak with him in the first place.  

"Oh!" you exclaimed, causing Varric to start from your sudden outburst.  

"Maker's ass, what is it?!" he demanded, blaspheming under his breath as he tried to get rid of the stray line he had just created with his quill.  

"Maybe it would help if you knew the history of my world!" you said, a rare eagerness to your voice that seemed to humor him.  

He seemed to mull the offer over in his head, comically patting at his chest hair. Giving you a cheeky grin, he said, "Well, I do need a few more ideas for my next book, so... lay it on me." 

You situated yourself deeper into the chair, because you knew you would be there awhile. "What should we start with first? Oh, I know! How about the religion?" 

He gave an affirmative nod of his head and motioned for you to begin... 

You told the stories of Jesus and Joan of Arc (and how both people seemed to tie together to equal Andraste herself), spoke of the Catholic Church and Christians and all the different religions.  

Then you went briefly over the gist of technology and the magnificent thing called plumbing, because you absolutely had to tell him what he was missing out on.   

You loved talking to Varric because he never once interrupted you like everyone else always did - not even when you rambled, left out important parts of the story in your rambling, and had to retell those parts again. He allowed you to finish each story _before_ asking the burning questions, and he paid attention. As if he were enjoying them. He also took notes. 

Maybe it was because he was a storyteller himself - and an excellent one at that.  

"Do you miss it? Back where you're from?" he finally asked when you took a long swig of the hot chocolate a kitchen hand had fetched for you. It made you feel a little more at home and warmed the loneliness in your chest. Varric had insisted on drinking something more alcoholic for himself.  

You shrugged aching shoulders and drummed your fingers along the side of the mug. "I liked it before the War started, but the way Earth is now, I would probably go back to death everywhere." 

"Not much different than how it is here," he observed, taking a gulp of his own drink. "Though I can see the appeal of this world - it's brand new to you. There're still a bunch of places you want to discover and, well, it would be weird going back to just humans after being in the company of one very fine dwarf." He gave you a wink and brought his mug to his lips again.  

You nodded in agreement. "You are right, Varric, although it would be nice to not be the center of everyone's wrath. At least the only person I had to worry getting angry at me was the leader of my group."  

The leader of your group. You could feel your face pale at the mention of him, yet Varric said nothing, simply furrowed his brows in muted concern.  

"Anthony," you breathed, thunking your head against the table with a mild groan.  

"Not a nice guy, I'm assuming?" 

"You assume correct," you muttered, content on trailing into a silence that heightened the sound of Varric's quill moving across the parchment.  

"Alright, I think I got it," he said after a long pause. "Angel." 

You raised surprised eyebrows at him. "Angel? No. I would rather you call me Inquisitor before Angel." 

He gave an exasperated sigh and threw his hands up. "This is hard for me, too, okay? You're this otherworldly symbol - one that I'm kind of shocked I believe in." 

You let his words sink in for a minute before responding, "You are trying to make me relatable?"  

He pressed a palm to his forehead. "I dunno, Inquisitor." 

"To you or to everyone else?" you challenged, ignoring his half-hearted denial.  

He suddenly snapped back into the confident, evasive Varric that everyone knew him as.  

"Ah, now that's the burning question, isn't it?" He didn't give you time to respond before he said, "Now, tell me about these showers you mentioned earlier."  

You had no reason to deny him, even though every part of you wanted to say _let me know you._  

- 

Cole met you at the landing of the stairs leading to your bedroom with a greeting style that you were all-too familiar with, " _I have Hawke and she's the Herald. Wish I could tell her about Bianca, wish I could tell her that I know she's suffering, know she wants a friend, but I can't be that for her. Heroes like her don't live at the end._ " He gave himself a moment to take a breath. "See? People want to be your friend but...  they're scared and you're scary." 

You crested the top of the stairs, Cole at your heels, and went to work on lighting the fireplace, your spirit companion right behind you. " _You_ are my friend," you quickly reminded him, fighting the urge to use English with him, in order for you to get more practice with Common.  

"I know that you need more than me, [Name]. And I understand that... But you don't."  

Cole moved your shaking hands aside and began working on the fire after noticing your struggling. Even after all these months, you still had no idea how to do many things with the tools at your disposal. There was always someone there to do it for you.  

You couldn't even start a fire here, which seemed to be a necessity as of late. After Skyhold's nights dunked below freezing temperatures, somewhere in the negatives if you were to be honest, a simple pile of blankets were no help any more. This night was a particularly cold one, and you had a faint suspicion that you were going to be sleeping before the warmth of the flames.  

As Cole busied himself with the fire, you spared a quick glance at your chair and—fuck, it was still there. That damn mantle.  

"Cole?" you began, continuing once he looked up at you from under his bangs. "Why did you not give the Commander his mantle back?"  

"Because he needs to receive it from you," he simply said, standing once the fire was to his liking. "And you need to give it to him." 

"Why?" 

"It'll help... _Regret twisting his stomach into a thousand little knots:_    
_Maker, I shouldn't have left;_    
_she wanted to help, I shouldn't have left;_  
Cole told everything, I shouldn't have left;  
she knows me, I shouldn't have left;    
_I know her, I shouldn't have left -_ " 

He abruptly stopped before staring at you with glossed-over eyes. "Wait, _I'll_ tell him. Midnight, bridge, heal." 

"Cole, what bridge -" Before you could finish your sentence, he disappeared for a full minute before ghosting back into your vision.  

"I'll show you at midnight. He'll be there." 

You resigned to take Cole's word and passed the time by creating a cot in front of the fire using the sheets of your bed, blankets (both yours and ones Cole "borrowed"), and a pile of pillows to rest your head on.  

After settling under the covers with the tome Solas finished inspecting and allowed Cole to pass onto you, the latter—sans large hat—moved in to rest under the blankets with you, curling himself against your side like a small kitten.  

You read past the part that said something about demons and Fade magic, but you couldn't focus enough to understand what it was saying. You sat the book aside and cuddled up against Cole as a wave of utter exhaustion swept over you.  

"Wake me up in a few minutes," you slurred to him, feeling a hum of acknowledgement from the boy in response.  

Cole woke you just as the clock tolled midnight. "It's time." 


	15. Long Time, No See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Cole go ice-skating. That's pretty much what this chapter's getting at.

As you followed Cole down the stairs leading up to your room, large mantle upon your frail shoulders, you wondered why the Commander wasn't chosen as Inquisitor. He wore his titles better than you ever could. He was respectable, reliable, knew the sacrifices that needed to be made.  

You could list off a thousand other adjectives that could describe the man to the public, but the only one you could personally agree with would be _broken_. Too much abuse, too much lyrium, too much trust put into people he shouldn't have trusted. _Too much_ a lot of things.  

You were starting to sound like Cole.  

"Not a bad thing," Cole reminded you, sweeping across the Great Hall with a dancer's grace.  

"No," you agreed, following after him. "If anyone were to rub off on me, I am happy it is you." 

The beautiful smile Cole gave you made your heart physically ache. That boy was the guiding light in the darkness of this world.  

"I'm glad." 

Cole led you through Solas's rotunda and out onto the bridge connecting the rotunda and the Commander's tower.  

Cullen wasn't there.  

A wave of relief washed over you at the hope that you wouldn't have to see him tonight. Maybe if you just hung it over the stone for him to find... 

You started to walk back to Solas's door before Cullen's voice stopped you.  

"Inquisitor!" You turned back at the sound of his voice. He sighed, picked up his mantle, and slipped it over his shoulders. It made him look like himself again, and you happily watched the relieved look settle upon his face. It turned to one of guilt within a second. "I'm not going to lie, I was debating on whether or not to show."  

"I do not blame you. Things have been... weird," you said, noticing the large, awkward gap between the two of you akin to an uncomfortable encounter with a forced acquaintance.  

"Well," he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, "that is... my fault, Inquisitor. I've let personal feelings get in the way of my duties. I apologize." 

You gave him a look of disbelief. "Cullen, what you went through—" 

"—Is still no excuse." 

"Why can you not see that not being okay is okay? You are hurting, and that is okay. You are embarrassed, and that is okay. To be truthful, I am, too..." 

Cullen shook his head in disagreement. "The Inquisition deserves me at my best." 

"You will be at your best when you learn to accept who you are and what happened." … Okay, maybe you should start taking your own advice before trying to help others. 

He leveled a studying gaze at you, testing if you were mocking him like the others—ahem, Ella—around Skyhold did about his "crush". 

“Well, I appreciate you returning this to me,” he finalized, turning on his heel to march back to his tower.  

You contemplated stopping him to tell him that he wasn’t alone. And by the way he paused, he must have hoped you _would_ stop him. But he must have known that he wasn’t actually alone by now.  

So you let him leave.  

 

- 

 

The next morning, you decided to make it for breakfast, frowning at the usual gruel in your bowl as you took a seat between Varric and Iron Bull.  

You didn’t even get a chance to sit down before Bull began to reprimand you. 

"Listen, Boss. Before your ass goes anywhere, we have to make sure you're in shape first." 

You couldn’t help the offended look that screwed up your face. "I am! I trained with Orson—" 

"We worked with weapons, kid," Orson corrected you, looking up from stirring his oatmeal. You gave him a look that said _thanks for nothing_.  

Bull rested his large hand atop your shoulder to grab your attention. "Exactly. Look, an army'a demons isn't gonna give you a minute to catch your breath."  

"I think I am in shape. My... _running_ is good, at least."  

"Yeah, but you don't have the strength to save your life. That's what we're gonna be focusing on for the next week. I want you out at the training yard before sunrise." 

You made to protest, but he cut you off.  

"Ah, ah, ah! No buts. I already talked to Cullen and Red about it. They think it'll do you some good. Get you used to all this violence." 

Of course Cullen would be all for punishing you in any way he could. Leliana, too. 

"Why now? It has been months since I got here!" 

"Well, I didn't think you needed it until now, since you never take me with you." He gave you a disapproving eye, and you smiled at him guiltily. "That last mission at Crestwood, when I saw you almost get taken down by a _demon_ of all things?" He scoffed. "It was pretty pathetic."  

Your pride was severely wounded by his observation, but you had to admit that he was right. After fighting demons all day to get to that damn rift under the lake, you tired out while fighting to close a rift, and made a mistake that almost cost you your life. Bull was there to drag you to safety.  

"… Okay. Fine." 

"’Atta girl! Now go find some old clothes—actually, preferably none at all—" He mock winced when Orson dug an elbow into his ribs. "Okay, damn. I was just messin' around."  

With a chuckle, you turned back to your bowl of oatmeal and started picking out the berries to eat, suddenly lost in thought.  

Bull wasn't a bad guy by any means. It was obvious that he cared about his Chargers, maybe even cared about _you_ in some way. He just had a tendency to sometimes mask his soft side with sexual advances. Not that you didn't enjoy them—they were great for a laugh.  

The whole "spy" thing still shook you up a bit. Wasn't his reason for being here to get information _for_ the Qun and give information _from_ the Qun to the Inquisition? Ugh.  

You hated that you couldn't open up to him. He was so down-to-Earth and easy to talk to, but you couldn't risk slipping up about anything and him running off to his boss, or however the hell that worked. 

You looked over at Varric when he nudged you with his shoulder.  

"You okay, Inquisitor? You've been sounding like Seeker over there for the past five minutes." 

Cassandra looked up when she heard her name being called and made a noise of disgust.  

Your dwarven friend grinned. "See? Like that." 

"Varric's right," Ella said from her place across from you, "you haven't even touched your oatmeal." 

Varric suddenly chuckled. "I remember the first month you were here when you couldn't even keep gruel down. It would always make you so sick." He clicked his tongue and bit into a piece of toast smothered in what looked to be strawberry jam. "You and your high-maintenance stomach."  

"Not my fault the food here is so unclean. My gruel always had _sticks and rocks_ in it. Sometimes a worm, if I was lucky." 

A round of soft laughs circled the table, and under your deadly stare, Varric simply smiled innocently. 

Ella held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, to give the Inquisitor the benefit of the doubt, I'd say it's hard to go from a life of luxury to living in this shit sty."  

 _You would fucking know, Ella._  

"You miss your friends back home?" Orson questioned, and you jumped at the opportunity to break away from the discussion over your digestive issues.  

"Every day," you replied, almost immediately. "They are most likely dead by now, though. The War probably killed all of them."  

Orson, blessing that he is, didn't see a need to pry. Although you had only spent time with the man during practices and at breakfast, he seemed like a really nice guy… when he wasn’t being an ass. Of course, a mere change in title has made many a people see you in a more respectable light.  

If they only knew you weren't actually running the show.  

"Apologies, Inquisitor. I didn't mean to—" 

"No! No, you did nothing wrong," you interjected, leaning around Bull to lay an assuring hand on Orson's shoulder.  

He gave you a slight smile and turned back to his breakfast.  

"Would you like for me to go somewhere? Leave you two lovebirds alone?" Bull teased, shrieking when you whacked him on the back of the head. “Kidding, kidding!” 

“Ya might as well shut it, Bull. Not my fault you can’t get into her pants,” Orson said, smirking behind his spoon.  

Iron Bull scoffed and rested an elbow on your good shoulder. “If I wanted her in my bed, she would have already been in it.” 

By that point, you had resigned to watch their harmless banter, but the way they were talking about you started to make you a little uncomfortable. You didn't really feel hungry anymore.  

A slight grimace twisted your mouth as you shrugged Bull’s arm off your shoulder and stood. He was quick to grab you before you made it too far away.  

“Boss, we were just kidding.” When you didn’t say anything, Bull stood from his seat and led you away from the table until you were outside, in the garden. He ducked his head to study your face. “Listen, I’m sorry. I wasn't thinking when I said that.” 

“It’s not… about that, Iron Bull,” you replied.  

The furrow of his brow ran deeper the longer he looked at you. You knew it was all an act; he knew what was wrong from the moment he saw you sit down with your breakfast.  “You’re afraid of me, is that it?” You didn’t respond, instead cursing yourself for proving yourself right about his Ben-Hassrath skills. You didn't like to think that, to him, you were as see-through as freshly Windexed glass. “Boss, I think I’ve been here long enough to prove that I can be trusted at least a little... What did I do between the walk to Skyhold and now to make you so afraid of me?” 

You looked at him that time. “Bull, you know that I am not in a position to trust people. I cannot get attached. That was a moment of weakness.” 

He shook his head. “Wasn’t sayin’ that, Boss. I meant that you can tell me whenever shit bothers you, _similar_ to that time you fell asleep on me after you blew up Haven... I know you want to.” A warm smile curled up his lips, and you had to admit that he was _good_. Too good.  

No, fuck that. If someone wanted to willingly listen to your problems, who in the hell were you to question their motives? Especially someone that had been as loyal as Bull.  

“You are right,” you acquiesced, “as much as I hate to admit it.”  

Bull let out a hearty chuckle and patted you on the back. “That’s what I like to hear! Now let’s get back to breakfast.” 

“Oh, I am full. I need to work on paperwork, anyway.” 

He gave you a once-over, let out a grunt that sounded like _your loss_ , and walked back into the Great Hall.  

You quickly sought out the new requisitions officer – you couldn’t remember that poor boy’s name – and gave him the outlines for some Thedas-y ice skates.  

Cole’s presence was behind you the whole time, pressing warmly into your back as he curiously looked over your shoulder.  

"They can't see me," Cole would often remind you as you went about getting the necessary items for the skates. 

You frowned as you watched your favorite boots get whittled down and destroyed, never to be worn again. 

One of the only things you had left from home... 

"We'll get you a new pair of boots," Blackwall said from his seat next to you, as you both watched the process. "I know how much you loved those damn things. Real unique... How did you come up with an ice-skating shoe in the first place?" 

"We have them back home," you replied, sitting on your hands to keep them warm amongst the cool draft wafting through the undercroft. "People do it both for fun and as a sport." 

Blackwall grunted in understanding.  

- 

Sadly, only your boots back home could withstand the testament of the treatment, so Cole wouldn’t be able to have fun out on the lake. He didn’t seem to mind, though, because after searching through every shipment coming in and going out and every companion’s shoe collection in Skyhold and still not being able to find the right material _and_ size, he told you that just seeing you have fun for once would make him happy enough.  

- 

Armed with a new pair of ice skates and a pack filled with snacks, you and Cole made it to the frozen-over lake with chattering teeth—okay, _your_ teeth were chattering—within just a few hours. You thought you would die of hypothermia.  

Cole seemed perfectly content in the cold weather. 

You changed into your skates and led Cole out onto the lake.  

"Have you... done this before?" Cole questioned as he slid his feet over the slick ice. 

You hid a cheeky grin and said, "Uh... yeah! Of course I have." 

You fell flat on your ass, and a symphony of laughs echoed off the mountainside in the direction behind you.  

"Nice one, Boss!" Bull's booming voice called to you, causing you to turn your body despite the pain in your hips. 

There stood the towering qunari, along with Blackwall, Sera, and, surprisingly, Vivienne.  

"As if you could do any better!" you taunted back, allowing Cole to help you to your feet. 

"I thought you said you'd done this before, lass," Blackwall immediately quipped. 

You scowled as the group made their way down to the frozen-over lake where you and Cole stood. Vivienne stopped to stand next to you and surveyed your makeshift skates with a raised brow. 

"My dear, instead of going through the trouble of ruining your favorite pair of shoes, unsightly as the things were, you could have just asked for my help." You gave her a look of confusion, to which she stepped onto the ice and began gliding, twirling, spinning, behaving like she had been doing this for _years_. She stepped back on to the snow and showed you the bottom of her boots. She had made her own skates out of ice. Actual ice. "This has always been a favorite pastime of mine since I first learned it whilst in the circle.” 

Hm. Who knew the majestic Vivienne loved—never mind, it makes sense now. An elegant sport for an elegant woman. 

You spent the rest of the day relaxing at the lake with your companions, trading stories and history and talking about the differences between your world and theirs. It wasn’t until the sky was painted with the warm hues of sunset that you decided to trek back to Skyhold, enjoying your leftover food along the way.  

By the time the six of you made it to the Great Hall, Skyhold was already in a state of slumber, save for a few guards that patrolled the place that greeted you when they passed.  

As your companions waved their goodbyes and went their separate ways, Vivienne stopped you before you could make it to your room, motioning for you to follow her out to the gardens. She led you over to a new corner where flowers were starting to be planted.  

“Do you know what type of flowers these are, my dear?” 

“They look like irises.” You furrowed your brow in confusion. Why was she showing you this? 

“Yes, irises. Blue, as a matter of fact. Currently being planted by the common people here at Skyhold.” Vivienne turned to face you. “Do you know what this means?”  

“Uh…. No, ma’am.” 

She rested a hand lightly upon your arm. “The people see Skyhold— _you_ _—_ as a beacon of hope; they’re placing flowers in your honor. You've become a symbol that these people need right now, so no matter how difficult life may seem, just know that you matter. To all of us.”  

You tried—really tried not to cry in front of her, but her words struck so deeply with you that a few tears had to be shed.  

“Thank you,” you whispered, wiping your cheeks with the back of your gloved hand. 

“You’re very welcome, Inquisitor.” She flashed you a glimpse of what looked to be a comforting smile, and you grasped it for all it was worth. Vivienne was a woman of very few words, and even fewer smiles, but when she spoke, the whole world listened. “Now, you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow so I shall let you run off to bed. Have a good night.” 

And you left with her reassurances breathing new life into you.  

Everything that you did for this world you did because it was the right thing to do, because you knew in your heart that at the end of the day, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if anything were to happen to any of the people you had grown so close to, despite what you tried to tell yourself. But it was this validation that made the suffering worthwhile. You could see your actions affecting people for the better.  

- 

You slept peacefully that night, dreaming of great parties in New York with your friends back home, yet a loud knocking brought you out of bed. In just a thin shift, you opened the door to a runner who insisted you go to the War Room immediately.  

Throwing a robe over your shoulders with huff of irritance, you rushed down the steps and through the halls of Skyhold to meet your advisors and newly-acquainted Hawke at the war table.  

“You weren’t supposed to be back for another week,” you said to Hawke, wrapping your robe further around yourself as the chill of the room started to set in. Everyone but the Commander and Varric’s friend was in a similar state of undress.  

“Plans have changed, Inquisitor. The Grey Wardens have progressed with their army a little too quickly for our liking,” Hawke said, curling her lip in annoyance.  

“We march for Adamant tomorrow,” said Cullen, settling his gaze upon the map.  

Leliana turned to you. “I suggest you get everything prepared tonight, Inquisitor. It’ll be a long journey.” 


	16. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader looks for her parents and Bull helps Reader with her stress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is Bull/Reader smut in this one, but with friendship undertones. Just a friend helping a friend out.
> 
> Mainly it's a gift for myself because IT'S MY BIRTHDAY TODAY AND I'M FINALLY LEGAL YAY!!!!!

You couldn't find your fucking parents. Okay, sure, it had been days since you'd last spoken, but you knew that they wouldn't leave without saying goodbye, especially after all they sacrificed to find you. It just wasn't like them.  

Hopefully Ella could provide you with the answers you were looking for, and if not, she could at least ground you into reality, something you were shit at lately.  

Your first stop was the rookery where Leliana and her agents spent most of their time. Leliana was bent over her desk, inspecting some papers when you walked in, and at the sound of your footsteps, she looked up.  

"Ah, Inquisitor. I didn't think you would still be awake." 

You shrugged your shoulders. "The news of tomorrow's travels kept me up."  

She nodded her head in understanding. "So, what brings you here?" 

"Well, I am looking for Ella. I need to ask her a few things."  

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, and spoke with caution. It was like she knew what you were going to ask Ella, but the woman knew everything that went on in Skyhold. "Last I heard, she was in the tavern, so I would suggest checking there." 

You nodded your head in thanks and rushed through Skyhold. You had only a few hours to get the answers you searched for before heading off to Adamant.  

As Leliana said, Ella was sitting at the far corner of the tavern with a drink in hand and a letter on the table.  

"Ella," you promptly said, starting when she jumped.  

"Shit, Eve, you can't sneak up on someone like that!" She was obviously sober, yet acted as if she wanted to be anything but. "What're you doing here?" 

"Have you seen my parents?" you asked, sliding in to the seat across from her.  

"Getting right to the point, are we?" She then stared at you with a look of confusion. "I thought Leliana had already showed you the letter." Ella slid the paper she had been reading across the table to you, and you picked it up with wary fingers.  

"What is this?" 

"It's a letter your parents wrote to you. Leliana gave it to me, and I had assumed you'd already read it." 

"Well," your jaw clenched, "I haven't." 

"Sorry, Eve," she said, shrugging her shoulders.  

You read it. 

 _Dear (Name),_  

 _We're sorry it had to come to this, but an important event back home needed our attention. Stay safe_ _._  

 _-Mom and Dad_  

You scoffed at the briefness of their words and the shortness of the letter. You didn't even know where they lived! How were you supposed to find them? You supposed Leliana could track them down, but you couldn't waste the resources or the effort. It would have to wait until all this had blown over.  

Still, the fact that they didn't even say goodbye... 

"You alright, Quizzy?" You looked up at the mention of your title, at Ella's usual smug face now twisted in melancholy. "I'm sorry you didn't get to say goodbye." 

You steadied yourself, wiped the tears from your cheeks, and took a long breath. "At least I know they are alive." You folded the paper neatly and stuffed it into the pocket of your wool cardigan. "Night, Ella." 

You headed up to your room where Cole was waiting patiently upon your bed. 

"Your parents.... Is there anything I can do?" Of course he knew. He knew everything that bothered you.  

You shook your head, moving to sit next to him and settle into his lanky arms. "Stay with me." 

All of a sudden, all the energy drained from your body and your mind completely cleared, and you leaned into your friend's side for comfort as he led you to the head of the bed, then he settled you under the covers. He settled into the curves of your body and allowed you to cry against him until morning broke.  

When you woke, Bull was hovering over you with a hand on your shoulder. "Wakey, wakey, eggs and archdemon!"  

" _Mother fucker_ , Bull! Go away!" You pulled the covers over your head and rolled over. It was too early, you were sad, and your head hurt like a motherfucker.   

"Alright, well, I'm assuming you insulted me, so...." You yelped when he hauled you, blanket and all, over his shoulder. "We already got your bags ready—" 

"Bull, no!" 

He made it to the top of the steps. "Are you gonna get your ass up?" 

"Yes! Now put me down!"  

He set you back on your two feet and held your elbow when you stumbled.  

"You sure woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. What's diggin' at ya?" 

You shrugged your shoulders and got dressed in the clothes you had laid out the night before before throwing your armor on. It was to the point where you were pretty sure he'd seen your naked body more than you had, so there wasn't really a need for modesty. You washed your face, brushed your teeth as best you could, and with a quick brush through your hair with a comb, bam! You were ready.  

You turned towards Bull and held your arms out. "How do I look?"  

"Like you're ready to kick some demon ass." 

* * *

You were greeted at the bridge by your mare, freshly brushed and saddled, along with Cole, Solas, and Dorian. Bull was trailing behind you.  

"The spies and troops have already gone ahead, along with Commander Cullen and Leliana," Solas said, debriefing you on the situation.  

Dorian began jesting atop his horse. "The princess needed her beauty sleep, which is what I should be catching up on right about now." 

A smile broke out upon your lips as you and Bull settled atop your horses.  

* * *

The next day you finally caught up with the rest of your army at the camp Harding and her people had set up. A few of the soldiers and spies greeted you as your party approached, Ella standing out amongst them all. You were surprised Leliana even let her tag along, but she was a good ass fighter, so you guessed you could understand.  

As the four of you began to set up camp, Ella sauntered over to you with that shit-eating grin on her face.  

"Feel better, Quizzy?" she asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders when you stood to face her.  

You ignored her question and instead turned back to your tent. "Help me set this up, will you?" 

" _We gonna bang in this later?_ " she muttered in English, and you choked on your spit.  

" _Ella, don't say shit like that!_ "  

She rolled her eyes. " _Who's gonna hear us? The birds?_ "  

" _Kiss my ass, honestly._ " 

" _You know I'd love to._ " 

"What're you two love birds blabbing about over there?" Bull yelled from across the camp. How did he—fucking Ben-Hassrath.  

In a few minutes you had set up a tent for two, with Bull having already set his up while Ella was attempting to seduce you.  

Bull walked over to you and pointed to his tent. "I say the mages sleep in there and the _bad asses_ sleep over here."  

You couldn't suppress a laugh at his jest. "Alright, Bull. Thank you for the compliment." 

Bull guffawed in earnest happiness and patted you on the back, almost causing you to face plant. "Someone's gotta keep the Boss happy, right?" 

"Just put your stuff in the tent," you ordered in exasperation. Sometimes he was too outgoing and... loud for you.  

He gave you an impressed look. "Yes, ma'am."  

* * *

Later that night, as everybody retired to their tents and rested for the next day's travels, you were awake, plagued by memories and all the deaths caused by your slip-ups. Your dreams haunted you while you slept, and your mind haunted you while you were awake. You couldn't fucking win.  

"Boss, what's eating at ya?" Of course Bull knew you were awake. You had a sneaking suspicion that he had never fallen asleep.  

"You need to sleep, Bull. I am fine." 

He sat up and leaned over you, resting a hand next to your head.  

"I ain't sleeping until you do." 

You were tired of this fucking game he played—I'm not doing this until you do it, too.  

"Could you just let me be for once?" You didn't mean to snap at him, but the hunger in your stomach and the pain in your palm and your lack of sleep created the perfect recipe of a bomb that was bound to blow up at any given moment.  

"That ain't how this shit works. Now come on," he rolled you onto your stomach and pressed a hand into your back, "relax." 

You didn't hesitate to remove your sleep shirt when he asked you if a massage would help you rest. The cool oil suddenly poured onto your back was quickly warmed by Bull's hands working into your muscles.  

You couldn't help but moan as you felt the tension leave your body in waves.  

" _Let him help you_ _,_ " Cole whispered, voice bouncing off the walls of your mind, and you quickly replied that you would do just that.  

"If you feel uncomfortable about anything I do, you tell me, alright?"  

You nodded your head, a light sound of understanding leaving your lips. For a second you couldn't help but wonder if he was planning to take advantage of you all along when he suggested you share a tent.  

" _No. He was planning on helping you. He wants to make you feel better._ " Cole's voice of dissent almost made you flinch.  

You felt him straddle your thighs to reach more of your skin, and you sucked in a breath when he dipped his hands under you to rub the oil into your belly. He knew how to use those hands of his.  

He slowly worked his way around to your breasts, lightly tracing the curve of them before dancing away, as to not overwhelm you.  

You never realized how sensual and intimate a damn massage could be until you felt a heat pooling between your legs. It was embarrassing.  

"You alright, Boss?" His voice was like honey, low and melted and you suddenly bucked your hips up against him. He immediately removed himself from you and sat by your side until you looked up at him.  

"Bull, if I ask you to do something, promise you will not laugh at me?" You knew you sounded desperate and horny but fuck you couldn't help it. Maybe an orgasm was what you needed to release all that built-up tension.  

"Promise, Boss." 

"Will you," you swallowed down the lump in your throat, "will you help me come?" 

A furrow of his brow as he considered it, before asking you if you really wanted him to, and not just saying it in the heat of the moment. At that point you didn't care, suddenly so aware of the sexual frustration you held within that it physically hurt.  

He rolled you onto your back and helped you out of the rest of your clothes, and fuck you could smell your arousal from all the way up here and the dark look on his face as he gazed down between your legs made you blush.  

Bull rubbed more oil between his palms before massaging your breasts and stomach, moving down to coat your thighs in the slick warmth of his hands. It wouldn't have taken much at all for you to come.  

"Bull, just put your mouth on me a little so we can be done," you huffed, fisting your hands in the sheets of your pallet.  

He shook his head. "Don't think so, Boss. We got all night, and I'm gonna spend it on you. You deserve to be pampered a little."  

As sweet as his words were, you couldn't help but wonder how many girls he had made the same spiel to. It was what he was known for.  

"Bull, I do not want do all that." You were growing increasingly frustrated with him, knowing the kind of person he was, and you almost told him to stop before he grabbed your face in hand and forced you to look at him.  

"Look, I know about what you've heard and all the stuff that I've told you, but this time is completely different. I actually _care_ about you. Sex is sex, alright? No big deal, but it takes someone special to make it special." 

Your chin dimpled with the prospect of oncoming tears and you let a sob erupt from your throat, throwing an arm over your eyes.  

He never shushed you or told you to be quiet, that you were waking the camp with your cries. He just kept running his hands over you until you were ready to continue.  

"Maybe it was a good cry you needed," he said with a chuckle as he wiped your tears away with a thumb, and you couldn't help but smile at him.  

You had misunderstood him, everybody always misunderstood him. He held up this front of being a sex-crazed killing machine when, in reality, it was all he had known. He was just doing what the Qun had drilled into him since he was fresh out of his mother's womb. 

"You still with me, Boss?" The caress of his breath against your slit made you suck in a deep breath, and you were very happy that you always got the biggest tent because you were the leader. Otherwise it would've already been torn down by Bull's massive frame.  

You let out a meek "Yeah," and grabbed on to one of his horns. "Bull, please." 

The first touch of his lips against your slit had you whimpering, screwing up your face when he intentionally evaded the spot you wanted him most. His tongue dove into you, hot and long and that's when your breathing paused. You waited with bated breath for the first touch against your clit. He licked his way up to your bud before taking it between his lips, lightly suckling while a large finger slipped into you.  

You yanked his horns toward your grinding hips, muscles twitching, and you whimpered a chorus of _yes, please don't stop, fuck Bull I'm so close_ as you climbed toward your peak.  

"I got you, Boss. Just let go," he muttered against you, eager in tasting the freshly glistening slick along your lips. "You taste amazing, _imekari_." 

With a few flicks of his tongue against your clit, your orgasm tore through you and took all capacity to speak or even breathe, and you clenched around his finger and your whole body shook, and it lasted so long you thought you would die. He eased you through it with soft pets and kisses between your thighs, and when you could finally breathe again and the shaking subsided you let out a loud "Fuck!"  

He wiped his mouth with a palm and helped you back into your clothes, telling you how well you did and how much you mattered to everyone, and there wasn't one cell in you that didn't appreciate his praises. You welcomed them with proud, albeit tired, smiles, and for the first time in a while, after Bull rubbed your back and scratched your scalp to help you finally drift off to sleep, the nightmares were kept at bay. 

* * *

 

The next day was met with a far better mood from you after last night. You felt more rested than you had in months. Cole had been right.  

"Someone looks rested," Dorian said as you sat down for breakfast.  

You couldn't hide the blush that sprung up on your cheeks. Shit, you had been too loud last night. Everybody probably knew what you and Bull had done. You were probably already grouped into the same category as every person Bull had fucked, which was a very large group.  

Bull sat down next to you with a hand on your shoulder and a reassuring look before leaning down to mutter, "Nobody heard, Boss. Dorian had our backs." 

You breathed a sigh of relief and gave the mage a grateful smile, mouthing a thank you. He raised a brow and shot you a grin.  

"We'd better hurry and eat so we can make it to Adamant within the next year," Cullen grumbled from across the fire, sipping on his porridge.  

You rolled your eyes and met Solas's teasing grin.


	17. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look im back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for my absence but i kinda lost inspiration for a minute, but im back now. also college sucks.

The trek to Adamant was long and daunting, and you didn't even know if the payoff would be worth it. Bull and Varric tried to convince you that everything would turn out perfectly fine, but the stirring of wariness within your gut was too strong to ignore.

Something was going to go wrong. 

Everyone could obviously tell that their Inquisitor was in a less-than-desirable mood, and for the whole trip the soldiers and spies did their best to pep you up.

But there was no shaking this feeling. A rock in your lungs, restricting your breath and palpitating your heart. An incessant panic attack that you eventually had to consult the Commander on how to shoo away because _he_ would know.

He was in his tent as always, looming over the portable war table and inspecting the routes you were going to be taking. 

"Commander?"

He jumped and glanced up, then sighed once he saw it was just you. 

"Inquisitor, you frightened me. How're you feeling?"

Your hands shook like a tree in a hurricane.

"Commander, how do you, um, get rid of... _shit_ , I do not know if there is a word for it in Common." 

" _Bris va alna_?" 

You furrowed your brow. "I do not understand."

Cole suddenly materialized behind the Commander. " _That's what they call panic attacks_ ," he said. 

"Oh, I see. Yes. How do you get rid of them? I have had one all day, and we go into battle tomorrow."

He looked upon you with sympathy, and you felt like back-handing him. 

"I could tell you were feeling anxious all day. I can get Solas to whip you up something quite quickly. It can alleviate the physical symptoms."

You nodded your head. "Yes, please."

He nodded his head to you as he exited the tent.

"Cole," he looked up at you at the mention of his name, "are the spirits acting up?"

He sat in thought for a second. "No, but they are... nervous about something. I can feel their energy."

You sighed. “ _Fucking great_.”

“ _I'm sure everything will be fine, (Name)_.”

* * *

 Everything was  _not_ fine.

You and Bull and Varric and Cole were thrown into the Fade after the bridge came tumbling down. You met the Divine and traversed through the landscape with a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. Everyone else was apparently feeling it, too. Cole was practically comatose.

When you made it to the first rift, you saw your mother and father standing there, hand in hand. They were both smiling from ear-to-ear, and your mother was the first to reach out to you. You shook the hand from your shoulder and moved to embrace your mother.

“(Name), come back home with us. Everyone misses you dearly,” she said, cradling your face in the palms of her cold hands.

“This world will eventually discard you once it realizes your intrusion,” your father said, encircling his hand around your bicep. “Just like it did us.”

“The only thing protecting you is that Mark.”

You shook your head. “What the hell are you guys talking about?”

Your mother spoke first. “You don’t belong here. I know you feel it. Like the air is crushing you at all times. You’re trespassing.”

“You need to come home—”

“(Name) can’t,” Cole said. “We need her here.”

You heard Cole explaining the situation to your other companions as you contemplated your choices.

It struck you as odd that, when you thought of home, you thought not of the towering skyscrapers and desecrated back alleys of post-apocalyptic New York, but of the vast forests and the chilliness of Skyhold and the thousands of faces that trusted in you to save them. You thought of Thedas, of Ferelden, of Bull and Sera and Cole and Varric and so many others that you had connected with on your journey.

“This is my home now,” you said, turning back to look at your companions. “Besides, there’s nothing but death to look forward to back in New York. Here I have a purpose.”

“Once this world is done with you it will throw you out like trash, same with the people in it. You are a _puppet_ , (Name). These people don’t care about you like your dad and I.”

You shrugged. “I have to stay here, Mom.”

Your parents looked at each other before your father spoke up and said to your mother, “Honey, we tried.”

“She doesn't understand. We need to show her.”

“Show me wh—”

Before you could finish your sentence, your father had already yanked you through the rift, your mother following closely behind.

The sight before you made you want to vomit. Bodies were being burned in the alley next to you. Blood was running along the sidewalks. The sky looked… bloated and sickly. Hues of green here and there, some darker in spots than others. It looked as if one little move would rip it open and cause the whole world to be bathed in filth.

“What the fuck is that?”

“We call it an “infant Breach”. Apparently Corypheus has been trying to cross into this world for quite some time now. Every day the sky gets closer to ripping open,” your father said, casting his gaze toward the heavens.

“Goddamn it. So I have two worlds to save?”

“It seems that way.”

You turned to look at them. “How do I keep in touch with you guys? ‘Cause this is a pretty big dilemma and I gotta be updated.”

Your mother shrugged. “You’ll have to find that out on your own, baby.”

You let out a sigh and moved to hug both of your parents. “I’ll handle it.”

* * *

 You couldn’t even mourn the loss of the Grey Warden before you started retching into a pot of dead flowers once the rift had been closed.

A soothing hand suddenly circled over your shoulder blades, spreading a calming sort of cold into your chest and down the length of your spine. Your heaving finally ceased, and you were able to sit shakily next to the pot and curl into yourself.

“Cole told me what happened,” Solas said quietly, as if he were afraid of spooking you. “The Mark doesn’t respond well to such abrupt scenery changes. The veil isn’t as strong there as it is here. It took a toll on the magic of the Mark and, in turn, your body.”

“I do not think I can walk. Will you get someone?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

Before he left, he slipped a vial into your hand. It glowed blue, and when you uncorked it, it smelled like a mixture of copper and mint. Lyrium? Why the hell would he give you lyrium.

Cole suddenly appeared cross-legged next to you and held the vial to your lips. “ _The magic of the Mark is very drained. The lyrium will help_.”

You tipped it back and coughed at the strong metallic taste. But you immediately felt better. More calm, focused. The Mark wasn’t thrumming or in pain like before. It was still there, of course, just… less.

“I can definitely see how this can be addicting,” you muttered to Cole, who was helping you stand.

* * *

 Cullen stormed into your tent as you were being patched up by a local healer. Everyone else was also busy recuperating, so none of your companions were in the position to help.

“Who gave you lyrium?”

You flinched when the healer stitched up a deep cut on your arm.

“Cullen, I needed it for the Mark.”

The look on his face made you cower away from him. His eyes held a bitter glare, bleeding invisible tears of anger.

“Inquisitor, I oblige you to not take it again.”

You looked over at the healer still working on your arm and shooed her away despite her protests of _I_ _haven’t completed the stitching._

You nodded to the stool next to your cot, and Cullen contemplated a moment before taking a seat, and you could see the sickness upon his face, how he leaned slightly away from you.

“How did you know I took lyrium?”

He chuckled bitterly. “I’ve taken it for such a long while that I can smell it from the next town over. It—the smell… lingers just under the skin, I suppose.”

“So you could smell me?”

“It’s much more complicated than that. There is the smell, of course, but there’s a certain… I don’t know, feeling o-or sense to it.”

“I understand. And my apologies. I did not think about how you would be affected.”

* * *

A few hours later, Ella came to you and asked if you would like to go to a lake nearby. Of course you said yes.

You talked about home and how insane everything was before she turned to look at you for the first time and rested a hand on your thigh.

“I can’t let you leave here. I’m sorry.”

You could feel the blood drain from your face. “What the--why?”  
  
“Before I came to Thedas, Corypheus met with me in my dreams. The whole Fade thing? Yeah, we have it, too. How do you think people get possessed and ghosts walk around and shit? So, anyways, in order for me to “cross over”, I guess, I pretty much had to sell my soul. I had to do anything he wanted. When you came into the picture…” she shook her head, “everything changed. And no matter how much I care about you, I can’t live eternity in the Fade. I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya sorry for the short (shitty) chapter but i tried my best i guess leave me comments cause im very lonely <3


	18. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan and everyone gets ready for Halamshiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOO BOY do i have a life update for you guys
> 
> so i ended up quitting college cause i got to the point where my mental health seriously declined and i realized that i needed to take time for myself and work on my mental health before i took such a big step
> 
> so anyways im starting to feel a little better. i've started a lot of soul searching and it's scary
> 
> (also my breakdowns kinda inspired a part in this chapter that is my favorite thing i've ever written)

Before you could say anything, Ella flipped you onto your back into the shallow water, just deep enough for your head to be completely submerged. You kicked and scratched and choked and sputtered, and right as the edges if your consciousness began to blur the hands around your neck were gone. You were lifted out of the water and were rolled onto your side as you coughed up the water in your lungs.

Ella pleaded with Leliana, asked her to spare her life because _home equaled death._ You braced yourself against one of the spies as you listened to her drone on and on.

The sound of her choking on her own blood made you weep and curl into the spy’s chest. Ella was gone.

* * *

Leliana and Cullen stood around the portable War Table, talking amongst themselves.

“So she was aligned with Corypheus all along?”

“It seems that way.”

“And you had no idea?”

After finishing your bout of vomiting, you said, “If I did, do you think I would have let her stay?”

“I guess not,” Leliana said with a sigh. “In any case, I’ve lost one of my best spies.”

 _Pfft_. Please. You had lost one of your closest friends. You had been lied to.

You missed her.

* * *

“You got me a puppy!” You let out a cry of giddy laughter and sunk to your knees as the small mabari-wolf mix strode up to you and began licking at your face. Yes, a few tears did fall. She was a slate grey, sporting fuzzy fur, boxy facial structure, and triangular ears. Nothing short of a beautiful ball of fluff.

“Cole told us how much you missed the one back home, so while we stopped for supplies we picked her up. The breeders gave her to us free of charge,” Bull explained, lowering himself onto one knee next to you. He scratched the dog behind the ears. “I have no idea how you didn’t notice.”

“She was throwing up and unconscious the whole ride home, Tiny.”

“What shall you name her?” Dorian asked, careful to stay away from the animal in, what you suspected was, fear of ruining his robes.

You sat there for a second, rubbing her belly in thought before a name sprang to mind. “Xena. She is a fictional war princess back home.”

“Fitting,” Dorian said.

The newly-named Xena sniffed at your palm, at the branches of poison growing like ivy up the inside of your arm, before letting out a whine.

“She can feel your hurt,” Cole said, suddenly appearing cross-legged next to you.

Dorian let out a exclamation of surprise at the spirit’s presence. You almost had forgotten that there were people _not_ used to ghostly entities popping up whenever they so pleased.

“You should show Curly. He’s from Ferelden, right?”

* * *

 Varric was right about Cullen loving the dog. You had invited him up to your quarters a little before midnight to show him what the crew had gotten you while you had been passed out from exhaustion and pain. He had been wary at first _(“I don’t think I should be seen walking to your quarters at such a late hour_.”) until Cole had assured him that he would not be seen.

So there you were, sitting atop blankets before the fire, you in your signature shift and robe and him in casual clothing. You didn’t really think he had pajamas, seeing as he never slept.

Xena’s head lay in Cullen’s lap, the slow thump of her wagging tail against the floor the only sound inside the room, aside from the crackling of firewood.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, focused on running his bare fingers through Xena’s fur instead of having to look at you and the finger-shaped bruises around your neck.

You let out a sigh, contemplating the spill of your confession. “Commander, I--no. But since you told me about the lyrium, I should tell you that the… the Mark is spreading. Rapidly.” With grit teeth and an averted gaze, you untied and removed your robe, noticing the almost-silently sharp intake of breath from the man across from you, revealing to him the destruction of the Mark upon your skin.

You heard an actual intake of breath, and you flinched when warm fingers traced the branches.

“Maker’s breath. Have you told Solas?”

“Yes. There is nothing he can do. There is nothing anyone can do.”

Suddenly realizing his mistake, Cullen pulled his hand away from you like you had just burned him. To be fair, you probably had.

“Solas said the spreading had stopped.”

“We did not want to worry anyone.”

The room was suddenly engulfed in lights of green, Cullen’s golden color pallet turning sickly. You cried out, causing Xena to raise her head to you and whimper. There it was again, that sickly feeling broiling in the pit of your stomach. Shivers suddenly overtook you.

“Every day the—the pain gets more severe. Solas says l-lyrium helps.”

“Too well, Inquisitor. Trust me.”

You cradled your hand to your chest, the skin of your arm so tender you could barely touch it.

“Cullen,” you said, bringing his attention to your face, “I hate to ask this of you, but will you get a lyrium bottle from under my bed?”

You could see his throat constrict as he gulped, yet he said nothing in dissent. He came back with a bottle, holding it as loosely as he could, by the very cork.

When the lyrium entered your veins, your body sang as the magic of the Mark was fed and the monster was sated for the night.

Before you could lick the substance from your lips, Cullen grabbed your chin in hand, maneuvering your mouth slightly ajar. He surged forward, worrying over your mouth with his tongue and lips until you were licked clean. You simply sat there in shock, too awed to either spur him on or push him away.

When he pulled away, there was no guilt or apology in his eyes. Only relief and sedation. Remnants of an addict.

“Cullen, you just—”

“I have to leave.”

The shaking of his hands had almost stopped when he went to stand up. His skin had a rosy tint to it as he passed by you. He had relapsed, and it was all your fault.

The door to your chambers closed. His steps faded. Cullen was gone.

* * *

That night, instead of hands around your neck, you dreamt of lyrium kisses and the slow hum of a thousand-years-old song shared between two intertwined bodies and sweaty thighs on hips and when you woke a fierce fire was aflame in your gut. But you refused it. The guilt weighed too heavily upon your shoulders.

When you saw Cullen in the War Room later that day, neither of you could look each other in the eye. But you saw the curious glances Josephine and Leliana were giving each other.

When the meeting concerning the Winter Palace was over, Josephine invited you to her office for tea. To your surprise, she didn’t bring up the situation between you and the Commander at all. It was actually quite lovely. You shared your most embarrassing stories and gossiped about the nobles staying in Skyhold. Hours had gone by before either of you had known it.

“We have a month to prepare for the Winter Palace,” Josephine said as you departed.

* * *

You and Sera watched Bull train with the Chargers for the rest of the evening from the roof of the tavern, indulging on cookies _without_ raisins and sharing sips of milk.

She filled you in on the status of the Red Jennies and told you of their antics in Val Royeaux, which meant that you had a mess to clean up, but it was Sera so you didn’t mind.

“So, Quizzy, what was that whole mess back at Adamant?”

You sighed. “Sera, I do not know. I am still trying to understand it myself.”

“Sad to see the spy go. Good eye candy, her.” She elbowed you in the side and said, “I bet you knew all about that, right?”

“Yeah…” you muttered with a sigh.

“Aww, come on Quizzy. I’m just yanking your trousers.” She gave you a toothy grin and you sighed. _What was she up to now?_  “Wanna go downstairs and do some day drinking?”

Risky, but at this point you’d try anything to get your mind off the stress.

You shrugged your shoulders and followed her downstairs to the bar. She bought you a drink and both of you took a seat at the table in the corner of the tavern.

“To old times,” she said, and the both of you toasted. Then you remembered what she was talking about: the time that Ella took you to the tavern and you got so drunk you jumped off the roof and landed on the Commander.

You laughed, then Sera smiled and said, “She may have been a bad person to everyone else, but she was a good person under all that… bullshite Coryphenus pushed into her head. I mean, she was good to you, right? She was just fighting for the wrong team.”

Sometimes you had no idea what Sera meant. She confused herself a lot, which confused you, too. But you appreciated the sentiment. And her rambling was quite endearing to a stressed-out heart.

“Do I see the Boss enjoying some drinks? During the _day_?”

You rolled your eyes as Bull strode up to your table and plopped down into the chair next to you.

“This was Sera’s doing,” you said in your defense.

“You were pretty quick to get down here, _Herald,_ ” Sera said.

“ _Pshh_. _Whatever.”_

“Are you insulting me in that English mumbo gumbo or something?”

“Both of your drinks are getting cold,” Bull said.

“Drinks do not get cold, Bull,” you replied, taking a big gulp. Or five.

“Damn. Is there something you want to talk about?”

Of course he knew. He was probably going to catch you on your way out of the tavern, but instead saw you sitting with Sera.

“Nope. Nothing.”

Sera rolled her eyes. “Alright. I’ll let you two canoodle and stuff.” Then she got up and left you with the Thedas version of a therapist.

“If you think I am talking about what happened, you are wrong.”

Then you got up and left the tavern, despite his calls of your name.

* * *

Josephine and Vivienne were quite impressed with your knowledge of masks and how to hide behind them. But having the leader that your gang did forced you to know your way around one.

Vivienne had already ordered and delivered your dress by the time you started on etiquette. And dancing. God, you hating the dancing. Not because you weren’t good at it, but because of all the dances you had to memorize.

You had to learn about all Orlesian noble houses and their respective heraldry. How to hold yourself. Always be evasive when answering questions—never be direct or honest.

The whole preparation was just exhausting, although it was funny to watch Sera get frustrated and bend her silverware.

When you weren’t busy with Winter Palace business, you sat with Solas in the rotunda a lot. Since you had left the Fade, both of you had been spending more and more time together. When you would get upset and cry, he would take you to your room and let you paint designs on your walls. When the Mark would cause you to fall to your knees during sparring sessions with Bull, Solas would be at the ready with potions and poultices and apologies. You didn’t really understand the last part.

Every night, Solas would come to you in your dreams and take you to see your parents in the Fade. It lifted your spirits like no other.

Of course, your other companions had ways of making you feel better when life became a bit too much to deal with. Sera would take you to play some pranks. Blackwall would take you to the stables and let you play with the baby animals. Iron Bull would let you hit him with a stick. Varric would spin you stories of _the Inquisitor from another world whom everyone loved so dearly_. Vivienne would take you shopping. Cassandra would spar with you and let you win. Dorian would let you sit in The Chair™ and read some of his favorite stories. Leliana would let you play with some of the nicer ravens (you had named your favorite Midnight). Josephine would throw a tea party for two, complete with your favorite Orlesian sweets. And Cullen, well, up until a few days ago he would invite you to his office and just have a simple chat.

You didn’t know what had changed, but since Adamant you were never alone. One of your companions was always watching over you under the guise of spending time together. You weren’t stupid. You knew it was because they were afraid you would actually run off and go back home. They just didn’t understand that there was nothing for you back in New York, that you had no _reason_ to go home.

Eventually, under all the stresses of Halamshiral and never being alone, it all became too much one morning at the War Table.

Two weeks left until the Ball, and your advisors would not stop arguing over the pettiest bullshit. It hurt your head. It overwhelmed you. When they turned their voices upon you, the tears were inevitable. It was a hiccup that turned into a full-out sob, which immediately quieted the room. Josephine was at your side within a second, shushing you and running a hand up and down your back.

“Inquisitor, I do apologize. Things can get quite heated in here,” Josephine said softly. “Do you need to take a break?”

You simply nodded your head.

“Alright. We’ll just settle this at a later time, then. I think we’re all on the verge of tears at this point.”

She had a guard escort you to your room.

When a soldier came to fetch you in your quarters, you drove him away and told him _tell the advisors to settle this without me_.

You didn’t move from your bed the rest of the day. Josephine sent consolation sweets and hot chocolate. Cole lay next to you and simply held your hand, muttering _can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t get up, think my heart might stop, wish it would stop, make everything stop!_ and you eventually had to ask him to be quiet. You already knew what your thoughts were.

“It hurts. How can I help? Oh, I know!” Then he vanished, and you curled your hand into a fist, the coldness of his still fresh against your palm.

A few minutes later, in walked Varric and Xena, the former with hot chocolate in hand and a book tucked under his arm.

“Someone called for the handsome dwarf to read the mighty Inquisitor a story?”

That brought out a small chuckle from you, to which he smiled from ear to ear.

“ _That’s_ what I like to hear.” You scooted over so he could sit next to you on the bed, Xena moving to lay at your feet. He took a swig of his drink then sat it down on the bedside table and began flipping through the pages of his book. “Alright, what should we read first? Hmmm, ooh! What about the story of one of my ancestors, who was the bravest man in all of Tethras history?”

He reached you a chocolate-covered strawberry and let you snuggle up to his side. Sometimes human contact was needed when you felt separated from reality.

Then he began, telling of the man’s adventures in the Deep Roads, and how he once dueled a Paragon and seven of the Paragon’s men for his daughter’s hand and _won_.

At the end of his tale he patted you on the head and said, “Even though he did all of those amazing things, he still wasn’t as brave as you are.” You thought you saw tears in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. “You can get through this. Even Heralds have to take a break from the world sometimes.”

Through your tears you muttered out a broken _thank you._

“You need me, you come get me, alright? I got lots of stories up these short sleeves.”

He left while you laughed, and Xena came up to lay next to you.

* * *

When you first tried your dress on, you felt like you needed to vomit due to the constricting corset. The dress was simple and a deep crimson, the color of slit throats, and made of a soft velvet material. It had a flared skirt and a deep collar, complementing what cleavage you had and perfect for the gaudy golden necklace Vivienne had chosen.

“Darling, you must make a statement at Halamshiral. Fashion is a discreet way to make that happen,” Vivienne had said about her choice in accessories.

Your hair had been curled, with a crown atop your head made from golden spindles and leaves that matched the necklace.

They practiced your makeup: flashy golden eyeshadow that shimmered in the light, kohl lining your eyes, and a deep red lip that matched the color of your dress.

A sea of gasps filled the room once you turned to face everyone, and you felt like an alien, completely out of your element and comfort zone.

But you did look quite beautiful.

“You look stunning,” Josephine said, causing a blush to rush to your cheeks and a smile to curl your lips.

“We did quite well,” Vivienne added. “You actually look as if you belong, darling.”

_Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i hoped you liked this chapter i have no idea what i'm doing with this story anymore. i mean i have a rough outline but beyond that ?????
> 
> if you want you can follow me on instagram where u can see me embarrass myself and we can rant about life together:
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/flowerpowder/
> 
> anyways yeah please take care of yourself take breaks dont let yourself get to the point that i did i love you


	19. Halamshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You really don't like balls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeez it's been so long im so sorry. but my muse for this story completely went MIA (i lose interest in things much more frequently than the average person) but ive been reading a LOT of dragon age fanfic these days and my muse was suddenly discovered and she wants me to finish this out. i've been chipping away at this chapter for a damn month. 
> 
> (i hope ppl actually still read this story jeez louise i think i need a new summary)

“ _I swear to god, Cole, if anyone tries me_ —”

“Josephine wouldn’t like that.”

You adjusted a piece of hair that had fallen out of place as the two of you waited on a secluded part of the balcony until the ball started.

You just _knew_ that something was gonna go wrong tonight. You didn’t know what, but the butterflies in your stomach would not leave you alone.

You were joined on the balcony by Dorian. His hair was slicked back, the ends of his mustache perfectly curled. His suit had not a wrinkle in it. He looked like he belonged here. Probably because he did.

“You look beautiful, Inquisitor,” he said, looking down the bridge of his nose to inspect you, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Thank you, Dorian. You look quite… _spiffy_ yourself.”

He raised a brow and said, “I really hope you said ‘handsome, as well as the best-looking person here’. Otherwise, I’ll be thoroughly disappointed.”

Goddamn if that man didn’t have charisma.

“Of course.” You heaved a sigh and rested your elbows atop the balustrade. “Do you have any advice?”

“Orlesians are like wild animals: they can sniff out fear. Pretend that you know what you’re doing and you’ll be fine, Inquisitor.” He patted you on the shoulder and left with a small wave, which you returned.

After skirting from Orlesian to Orlesian, chatting and solving small issues, you found that they did not like you at _all_. The ones that you helped seemed more accepting, but after passing numerous crowds and hearing nothing but insulting whispers, you were starting to feel quite disheartened.

“They just don’t know what to make of you yet, darling,” Vivienne had said in order to quell your fears, yet it did nothing of the sort. “Just stay in their good graces, strut through the halls in that _fabulous_ gown, and you’ll be just fine.”

Too bad you felt more light-headed with every passing second because of that damned corset.

You locked eyes with Varric across the courtyard and nodded slightly when he waved you over. He had accumulated quite the crowd of fangirls, all of which were fawning over him like he had magic in his pants. His chest hair, however…

“Ladies, ladies, settle down. I’d like to introduce you to my good friend, the Inquisitor.” A proud smile made his face gleam, and he motioned for you to step into their little circle.

The girls began immediately fawning over how beautiful your dress and makeup was, and how much luck had stricken you to become best friends with _the_ Varric Tethras! Even though the ‘best friend’ title clearly went to Hawke. You simply smiled through their passive-aggressive simpering disguised as compliments (to the blind, deaf, and dumb) before you were whisked away by Josephine.

“Your Grace, the ball is about to begin. If there are any last-minute—”

“No, I think I have covered everything, Josephine,” you said, adjusting your corset with a pinched face. “This damned thing is so tight!”

“It makes you look much less dangerous, and helps you to fit in. I do apologize for the discomfort, though.”

“Seeing as I cannot even breathe, I can agree with first.”

She shook her head at your grammar before her eyes widened. “Inquisitor, I ask that you do your best to actually sound… proper, if you catch my meaning.”

Oh shit, that wasn’t something you had even contemplated worrying about.

“Oh no. What if I cannot understand what they are saying? With the accent?”

“Cole, your spirit friend, has helped translate on numerous occasions, right?” You nodded your head, and suddenly both of your shoulders drooped in relief. “Keep him near you by whatever means you normally use.”

You knew that taking him was a good idea!

A grand bell tolled from inside the mansion, and Josephine led you to where the other advisors were, standing off to the side at the entrance doors. Cullen’s eyes widened once he saw you approach, and you lowered your head in an acquiescent bow. For now, the two of you had to look civil toward one another. You could go back to being awkward, floundering teenagers once inside the carriage.

“Inquisitor,” both Cullen and Leliana said in greeting. A few nobles turned their heads in your direction before whirling around and tittering to their companions for the night.

Leliana pulled you close with a hand around your elbow and said, “You should get used to quite a bit of that this evening.”

“I was hoping that was not the case.”

The redhead’s nose crinkled up. “And please mind your accent. We still need to get you a proper linguist.”

Out of your peripheral, you could’ve sworn that the corner of Cullen’s mouth tilted upwards at least a little. You wanted to bash his head into the wall.

“Thank God I do not only use my mouth for talking, then.”

That shut them up, and turned all of them three different shades of red. Leliana even giggled, though you were sure that _that_ was her façade finally being hammered into place.

* * *

This whole ball was absolutely ridiculous. Elven servants were being run ragged (with slurs being thrown in their direction no matter the good they did), noble houses were plotting against each other, and you had to decide whether to kill the Empress or not.

You. The advisors hadn’t let you make any other decisions thus far (and if they did, they undermined them to fit their causes), but when it came to someone’s life, they were quick to let the hypothetical blade fall into your palm.

Varric stopped you with a call of your name as you hurried past to pick up another statuette. You turned to him with a look of irritation on your face, yet his wide smile was not going to be deterred so easily.

“I think I have a nickname picked out for you.”

Oh, no.

“Varric, I would rather—”

“Just… hear me out, alright?”

You rolled your shoulders and settled into an “Orlesian noble” stance: hands clasped in front of your bellybutton, back straight, chin tilted up slightly. You were still but an inch or two taller than Varric even though you were, as far you were concerned, a human. Seriously, what did everyone put in their alcohol? Pureed Miracle-Gro? You just guessed that everyone had to have more… mass than you. Maybe evolution or something. Or the fact that you were on a different planet.

Which was a good point. Is that why you felt so suffocated under the air? Something to do with everyone here having bigger bones to withstand the gravity? Did it even work like that? But why could Leliana flip fifteen feet into the air if the gravity was _heavier_? Maybe Thedas just wanted you to feel as uncomfortable as possible.

When did Varric start talking?

“... So, how are things going on your end?” His proud smile faltered before he sighed and muttered, “You weren’t listening, were you?”

You shook your head guiltily. “Sorry.”

He crossed his arms and lounged back against the wall.

“Your nickname. Is Sweetpea.”

A blush feathered out across your cheeks, and Varric laughed. Little did he know, it stemmed from embarrassment, and not the good kind.

 _He_ used to call you that.

“Why?” you asked, forcing your voice to remain steady.

“Well, reasons that I can’t indulge just yet.”

That settled like a lead weight in your chest. Just another way you were being made into a clown.

“But using an… uh, what is the word? Starts with an ‘e’? Means pet name?”

“Endearment?”

“Endearment, yes! Using an endearment as a nickname is cheating.”

“It’s not just an endearment, Sweetpea.”

That stupid _blush_ again.

“Varric, please, I—”

He deflated before you. “You don’t like it?”

You rolled your gaze down to your shoes and gulped. “A bad man used to call me that.”

Curiosity flashed in those eyes of his before sympathy finally clouded them over.

“Well, okay,” he said, held up his hands as if he were trying to prove a guilty person’s case, “the way I’m using it isn’t to mean that you’re a young, attractive woman. Not saying that you aren’t, though. It’s just…” He glanced around and, upon seeing that everyone stayed preoccupied with their own conversations, pulled you close to him, as if he were telling you a secret. Which he kind of was. “Usually people give others sweetpeas as a goodbye, farewell, had a great time, what have you—”

“You are... saying you want me to leave?”

“No! Not at all. I’m just saying that,” his jawed worked under the skin before he eventually let out a sigh, “I am not helping my case here, am I?”

You shook your head.

“Yeah, I figured as much. Go on and save an Empress. We’ll talk later,” he grumbled, steering you away from him to get you to leave.

* * *

The reservations you had about hearing Orlesians speak was extremely accurate. It was like learning Spanish as a second language, then having to adjust your ear to a whole bunch of different dialects within that language.

Thank God Cole was in your head to translate.

Most of them constantly referred to you as dwarf, asked if you had been malnourished as a child (technically, yes), looked down the bridge of their noses at you, never referred to you as Inquisitor, always called you a fucking _dwarf dwarf dwarf._ Nothing against dwarves in the slightest, in fact that was the problem. Hearing them try to insult you by calling you what they suspected was your race was extremely… demeaning. Cole had to disrupt your thoughts many a time to keep you from saying something you regretted.

And then there were Cullen’s fangirls. Poor Cullen. The first time you passed by, you heard him yelp like an injured pup, only to find out that someone had _pinched his ass_. The second time you passed, statuette tucked under your skirts, they were taking turns touching his hair. The third time you passed, after surviving the meeting with Morrigan, you decided to intervene.

“Commander, I—”

“Oh my goodness, the Inquisitor! You’re so much… tinier than we were expecting!”

“We weren’t aware that you were a dwarf! Are you from the nobles in Orzammar?”

“Maker, no! She’s obviously a half-breed. She’s not fat enough to be a true dwarf.”

“Excuse us!” you snapped, rolling your shoulders back to stand a little straighter. “The Commander and I have something to discuss. Alone.”

The crowd slowly milled away, but not before blowing kisses at poor Cullen and sending you looks that could make Bull shit his pants.

The Commander leaned his elbows on the rounded table and let out a ragged sigh.

“They’ve been relentless all night.”

“Hopefully that will keep them away for an hour or two while I—”

The look he gave you made you pause. It wasn’t exactly graciousness or embarrassment, but something along those lines. You tilted your head to the side and placed folded arms atop the table before resting your cheek atop them.

“What are you thinking?”

He gazed over your shoulder as his jaw began working, seemingly deciding what he was to say.

“I… completely overstepped the boundaries of our professional relationship.”

Your posture immediately straightened and you simply stared at him, unamused. How did your conversations always end up like this? Apologies atop apologies. The two of you always managed to fuck up your interactions with each other, and now you were starting to think that you should just distance yourself from him. It would help keep the both of you sane. You didn’t really know how that thought made you feel.

“I never should have put you in that position. I am the one at fault.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and let his mask slip for just a second, but that was all you needed. He was hurting. Always. The lyrium made him hurt physically, and the past made him hurt mentally. The two met somewhere in the middle to create this concoction of deadly toxins that were slowly poisoning him. This was a pain buried deep within, like a dead body covered in concrete. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t even give anybody a _fork_ to dig it out, let alone a goddamn jackhammer.

When you looked at him again, he had regained his composure and was back to looking mildly displeased.

He opened his mouth to say something before Vivienne came strolling up to the table.

“My dear, I’m afraid I have some news. A change of plans are in order.”

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.

“Why?”

“Well, it seems as if the Empress isn’t the only one with targets on her back. Leliana’s gotten word that the Venatori may somehow be involved in this, but—” she held up a hand when you started to walk away, “until further news, Leliana thinks it best if you simply stay and mingle. We will venture to the servant’s quarters and be back before you know it.” She flashed you an assuring smile, probably after seeing the paleness of your face.

“Take Cole,” you muttered, “he will be at the door waiting on you.”

She nodded her head before turning on her heel and sauntering out of the ballroom, leaving behind an aura that made everybody’s brows raise in awe before they turned to mutter amongst themselves.

Jeez, was this worrying. A lead weight settled in the pit of your stomach, forcing the sensation of nausea up your throat. No, they could do this. After all, the first time you were out on the field you had thrown up everywhere from the acrid smell of death. They would be fine. Still, you worried. You wouldn’t be there to help or watch over them.

Fuck, you were attached. The one and only thing you didn’t want, and there it was, staring at you in the face. You cared about all of these people.

A hand on your shoulder made you flinch, and brought you back to the present. You turned around and noticed that you were walking under Leliana’s guidance. She led you out of the vestibule and into the gardens where Cullen’s men sat in wait.

They all greeted her and turned to you with a quick blunder of your title, then she steered you past them and sat you upon the stone bench encircling a large fountain.

“Has the nausea passed?” she asked, brows furrowed in concern yet eyes darting around like a hawk, just waiting for danger.

“Not quite.”

“Take a few moments to breathe. We can’t have you vomiting all over Celene’s expensive rugs, now can we?”

You looked up at her and, upon seeing the smirk on her face, whether false or not, you burst into a fit of hearty chuckles.

“No, we cannot.”

“Inquisitor, I wanted to tell you firsthand about the messages we’ve intercepted tonight,” she said, glancing around to see if anyone was watching your exchange. “Dorian, of all people, was the one who brought it to my attention.”

“But… why me?”

“You are ruining Corypheus’s plans. Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

Your brows furrowed, a mess of butterflies swarming around in your chest as you tried to sort out your racing thoughts.

“What if the gaze has been shifted to me? He is not going after Celene anymore?”

Leliana’s mouth opened just a tad before it shut again. Worry flickered on her face before it was replaced with her usual I-can-kill-you-with-a-simple-nod-of-my-head look.

“That is… interesting. I’ll be sure to check it out. Stay with either Josephine or Cullen, and whatever you do, do not dance with strangers. That is where most assassinations happen.”

Speaking from experience, you guessed.

“Leliana?” you called quietly, only continuing once she looked over at you. “Why are you being nice to me? Our history is not exactly a good one.”

“I’ve done a lot of thinking lately and… I think you’re ready for more leadership over the Inquisition.”

“So… what I should have had since the beginning?”

Leliana sighed and deflated just a little. “Inquisitor, you have to understand that we had concerns. But, you have proved to us that you can be trusted to handle the full responsibilities of Inquisitor.”

Oh Jesus, you should’ve learned to keep your fucking mouth shut. More responsibilities sounded like nothing but a curse.

* * *

You were quite enjoying a simple glass of wine to ease your worries for at least a moment, content with the sound of the upbeat music and chattering souls around you, when a hand rested on your shoulder. You whirled around, almost spilling your drink in the process, and looked up at the towering man who was currently offering you his hand.

“Inquisitor, may I have this dance?”

Your brows rose in surprise and you reluctantly replaced your alcohol with his hand. He had dark wavy hair that was slicked back against his scalp and a beautiful pair of lips. You thought you saw a spattering of freckles around the edge of his mask.

Hm. Nice.

What had Leliana said about dancing? You couldn’t really remember.

You let him twirl you along to the music before you followed a routine that had been gone through so many times back at Skyhold.

Why couldn’t they just dance and not follow along like a dance team? Nobility was weird.

Before he could pull you back to him, however, you were being dragged away by your arm, fingers tight around your bicep.

“Inquisitor, what did we say about dancing with unknown people?” Dorian hissed into your ear as he hooked an arm about your waist and led you to where everyone was regrouped outside.

“Nice of you to join us, Dancey,” Varric said with a slight hiss to his words.

You almost commented on how that sounded like a nickname for one of the Seven Dwarves, but decided against it.

_Get it under control. You didn’t even have that much to drink!_

“Now that everyone’s accounted for, what did you four learn inside the servant’s quarters?” Josephine asked, poised as if she were about to write a report on her slab.

“Venatori. Lots of ‘em,” Varric said to start.

Vivienne piped up next.

“And evidence to suggest that Gaspard is playing the Game quite well.”

Josephine gasped and asked, “Gaspard could be conspiring against Celene?”

Dorian spoke up. “Oh, he definitely is. A snake in the grass just like everyone else here.”

Then they all turned to you and you gulped, shrinking under the gazes of seven different people, including Cole.

“So. How much have you had to drink?”

“A glass. Or two. Maybe three? I can’t really remember.”

Everything either sighed or groaned in frustration.

“You hear news that your life is in danger and decide to get drunk and dance with—okay, okay, let’s all be honest. We would probably do the same.”

“Thank you, Varric. If I am going to die I should at least try to have fun.” Have of your crew seemed to wince at your dopey smile, while the other smiled at you.

Your eyes widened at that thought.

“What are you thinking, Inquisitor?” You looked over at Leliana who had crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side, silently questioning you. “You seem to have a plan.”

You sighed and slumped your shoulders, pulled at the edge of your corset.

“I was just thinking… what if I gave Corypheus what he wanted?” At everyone’s guffaw, you waved your hands and began to explain in more detail. “No, not let anyone kill me. You could use me as bait to catch the people that are trying to.”

Your advisors hummed and shared a look between themselves.

* * *

To think that, just because Corypheus’s gaze had been shifted to you meant that Celene still wouldn’t be targeted was foolish. Florianne had been onto you all evening, even going so far as to threaten you in the middle of your dance. But Celene still had two other people fighting for her crown.

When you burst into the ballroom after nearly collapsing from closing a large rift, you were immediately struck with a great pain in your right shoulder that sent you sprawling backward. You cried out and broke off half of the arrow, yanking the other out with your free hand with a grit of your teeth.

A layer of cool immediately engulfed you, felt like what mint tasted like, and you suspected it was Dorian casting some sort of spell on you.

You stumbled to your feet and marched to where Florianna was standing, in the center of the room.

“I suggest you save your dear Empress before someone _else_ can get to her,” she said, a cold smirk on her face that sent an unsettling shiver down your spine.

You spun around, noticed the unusual presence lingering behind Celene’s left shoulder.

“Celene!” you called frantically, sprinting your way up the steps.

As soon as you rounded the balcony, a cacophony of screams broke out along the crowd, the Empress’s among them. She collapsed with a thud, and you immediately rushed to her side, dagger drawn to slash the assassin’s throat. Blood sprayed your face as he toppled over you, yet you simply pushed him over the balcony.

You called out to Dorian, Vivienne, anybody that could help as you pressed your hands against the wound on her side. Adrenaline pumped through your ears, sounding like deafening ocean waves. It numbed your body completely, forced your chest to pound until it was aching, made you forget how to breathe.

“Move, dear,” said Vivienne coolly, pushing you away by your uninjured shoulder. “Get to safety. We don’t need you dead, also.”

You looked down at the blood that stained your golden gloves all the way up to the elbow as you made your way down the steps and pushed past people. Dorian had rushed to your side and dragged you away, your Mark alit from the heightened pull of the Fade from his magic.

You were stopped in the gardens by the same dark-haired man that had danced with you. Dorian pushed you slightly behind him and you could feel the electricity in the air. It frizzed up your hair and made the air feel thick.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I was just wondering if you were alright,” the man said, taking off his mask. His dark eyes shone with innocence, yet Dorian was not convinced.

“The Inquisitor is fine, and if _you_ would like to be I suggest you stay out of our way.”

Damn, Dorian.

The man held his hands up and stepped off to the side. “Florianne wasn’t going to kill you in the first place. He needs you alive.”

You kept walking under Dorian’s guidance as he whispered for you to simply ignore the man.

* * *

You really didn’t want to sleep alone on the first night back to Skyhold. You knew that your dreams would be plagued by Celene’s eyes, frozen in a state of fear because you couldn’t fucking save her in time. She was dead. Briala was on the throne and you had framed Gaspard for her murder. He was being transported to Skyhold’s prison cell, along with Florianne. Your companions had been cut and bruised and wounded during the encounter, which you attributed to them trying to save _your_ ass.

But hey, at least you had a group of elven spies at your disposal, a few of which were traveling with you back to their new home, under Briala’s orders.

Very few people were happy that an _elf_ know sat upon the throne of Orlais, but at this point you didn’t fucking care because you weren’t planning on sticking around to find out just how royally fucked (or not) Orlais would turn out to be under her rule. Plus, maybe people would learn to respect the elves if they had to bow to one.

With a few extra people in your party, it wasn’t like you had an option to sleep alone anyway. You gave up your huge tent to the spies and took refuge in Varric’s. Maybe he could wake you up if you had a nightmare. Hopefully he didn’t sleep like a rock.

* * *

You woke up to Varric’s laughter first, the kind that shook his whole being and faded into a wheeze. You were… extremely warm, yet you still held a chill that simply sat upon your skin.

When you blinked yourself awake, you saw that there was no light shining in through the small slit in the tent flap, and you were currently curled up against Varric’s side.

“What the fuck’re you laughing for?” you muttered, voice scratchy from sleep.

“Maker’s ass, I gotta write this down,” was all he said, before he sat up, lit a candle, and reached for his notebook.

“What. Is. It?” you hissed through grit teeth, sleepy enough that irritation fueled your whole being.

“Shh. I need my train of thought.” There was scribbling for a moment before your friend lay back down, still chuckling. “Did you know, Sweetpea, that you talk in your sleep?”

“I…” your face immediately reddened. Oh fucking shit, what had you said? “Sera told me that I do. When I am stressed.”

 _So, all the time?_ you thought idly.

“Well, you suck at telling jokes. You woke me up mumbling something about a frog, and when I asked what you were talking about, you said, ‘would like to hear a joke?’ and I asked what it was about and you…” he had to pause to chuckle, “you said, ‘The Chantry and nug-fucking’.”

Embarrassment almost won out. Almost. But Varric’s tone as he repeated your words and his cackling made you erupt into laughter as well. You had _never_ heard him laugh that hard. Ever.

“Oh jeez, Sweetpea, I haven’t laughed that hard in years.”

“Oh? Tell me about it.”

He waved a hand in dismissal and said, “Not a story to tell around a lady.”

“... Varric, I just talked about fucking nugs. I do not think I am much of a lady.”

“Alright, alright. Fine. So, I was sitting in the Hanging Man one night…” he continues on with the story, using his hands as an embellishment to the story. “... and before the whole tavern knows it, his pants are down to his ankles, and what do you know, the asshole doesn’t have any smalls on!”

Both of you break out into another set of laughs, wiping tears out of your eyes.

“That is amazing. Please tell me you wrote it down.”

“That was the first thing I did.”

You move back over to your own pallet to give him space, then stare up at the roof of your tent.

“I apologize for invading your space.”

“Nothing wrong with cuddling _enjor_.”

“What was the last word?”

“ _Enjor_?”

“Yeah.”

“It means friendly.”

“Oh. _Platonic_.”

“Yeah, if you say so. Now, go back to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Yes, father,” you mumbled dryly, rolling your eyes.

* * *

“So, what were you two conspiring last night? There was an awful lot of laughs coming from Varric’s tent.”

You accepted Josephine’s bowl of porridge and looked up at Dorian’s question.

“Sweetpea here is quite hilarious when she sleeps.”

“Varric, do not—”

“I’m not gonna say anything,” he said reassuringly from the corner of his mouth.

Everyone shared a look around the campfire.

“If you two are done embarrassing the poor girl,” Vivienne said, shooting Dorian and Varric a look that made them gulp before turning to you, “how do you feel today, my dear?”

Hm. How _did_ you feel? You felt tired and quite guilty, a touch aloof. You felt like going home to see your friends. A lot of things, yet nothing at once.

“Sore,” you decided to say. “If it were not for Dorian, things would have been a lot worse.”

 "I'm glad to hear that. Let's hope you won't have to use that arm for a few days."

Oh, how wrong she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first thing i would do if i ended up in thedas is try to fuck varric. hands down. i love that man so much it's insane.


	20. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey back to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea where this is going anymore to be honest i'm just having fun with it

For some reason, bandits thought it was a good idea to stop your group on the way back to Skyhold. They previously set up a roadblock that you walked right into, with additional caravans and archers stationed in front of either mountain face.

You turned back to look at your crew as you approached the leader. This was not going to end well. If there was one thing you knew about living in a war-torn city, it was that roadblocks were never a good thing. This smelled of ambush.

Ah, but it made you miss home.

“Well, well, well, look who we ‘ave here, boys,” the leader said with a mocking laugh, folding thick arms over his chest. “Lil’ girl thinking she’s tough ‘cause she has bodyguards.”

“I suggest you move,” you said coolly, curling your hands into fists to mask their shaking. “Before someone gets hurt.”

He narrowed his eyes at you before he and his men erupted into wheezing laughter. You shot a look over your shoulder, catching eyes with Leliana, before you began removing your glove to free your Mark. If push came to shove, having you throwing up blood was better than having any of your friends dead. You were officially their full-time leader, now. Leliana had said so.

_“You called us your friends,”_ Cole commented inside your head. _“It felt nice, didn’t it?”_

_“Yeah, yeah. Don’t rub it in.”_

A hand wrapped around your arm, and it took you a moment to realize that it came from _in front_ of you instead of behind you. The Mark immediately began buzzing and ebbing at your side, and the bandits took a step back.

“Step. To the side. Now.”

A flicker of fear passed in the leader’s eyes before his face twisted into a look of anger. He wasn’t going to back down. You had only a moment of reprieve before you were shoved back into Vivienne, who elicited a gasp of surprise and held you to her.

“You don’t scare me,” he growled, yet motioned for his boys to move to the side anyway. “You’ll be seeing the likes of us again!”

* * *

That night, you set up camp under an overhanging ledge to keep out the wind and oncoming rain. The food Leliana cooked had made you nauseous, though your anxiety could have played a big part in your stomach pain. You made an unpopulated lake nearby your haven and curled up under a tree out from the water to gather your thoughts. The lead weight in your stomach would not leave you.

You didn’t register the footsteps until a figure loomed close, before they sat down next to you.

“Are you alright?”

You nodded your head and picked at an unraveling seam in the hem your shirt. That needed to be looked at ASAP.

“Yes, I am… fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just… I, uh, worry about your health— _we_ all do.”

You scoffed and looked over at your commander, grumbled, “Since when?”

He furrowed his brow and opened his mouth as if to speak, yet said nothing for a long moment before he sighed.

“Inquisitor, I can understand your assumptions that we’ve demonized you—”

“You _did_ , Cullen.”

“We were being cautious.”

“You should have trusted me!”

“... I’m sorry.” A silence hung heavy between you for a moment before he spoke again, voice calm and low, “What is it you need from us?”

You flinched when the Mark burst to life, painting the lake green. Your other hand curled around your wrist and pressed down on its pulse to keep the Mark from throbbing as severely. “To be treated as a human. And not a pawn.”

“From now on, we will do that. I will make sure of it.”

_Don't say it._ “I just... want to know your intentions.” _Goddamn it._

The embarrassment on his face made even  _you_ want to bury yourself in the dirt.

“I can assure you, Inquisitor, that everything from this point forward will be strictly professional,” he muttered, looking out over the water. The statement made you frown. “Are you not yet afraid of bodies of water?”

You turned to him and raised a curious brow. “What?”

“After the... Ella incident, I mean. What happened was quite traumatic.”

You huffed. “Why do you always talk about me? Let us talk about you for once.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“ _Bullshit._ You just want to run from the truth.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his jaw work under the skin. He was debating telling you what happened, you knew. And you could understand. Saying your trauma out loud brought _truth_ to it. It made it real.

“If you are not ready, I—”

“It happened at Kinloch, a Circle Tower I was stationed at during the Blight. The mages became corrupt and…” When he trailed off and began wiping his palms on his pants, a nervous habit you guessed, you lay a hand on his arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze, though he abruptly shook it off. He stayed silent for a few moments before speaking up again. “They killed my friends and held me in a prison for… what felt like an eternity.” His bitter laugh rang in your ears, laced with years of guilt and memory, and you looked up at him.

“Is that when _it_ happened?”

He worked his jaw again, fidgeted in place.

“Yes.”

You weren’t going to pry. No. It would be the pot calling the kettle black to say that he needed to talk about the incident in order to heal. You were still trying daily to suppress what happened to you.

The look he gave you, of pleading, of _please tell me that I’m not alone_ made you suck in a deep breath.

“I guess I owe you my story, too. Um. His name was, uh, Anthony. The… the leader of a gang I was part of back home.” At the shocked look on Cullen’s face, you held out a hand in reassurance. “It was the only way to survive. He… cared for us. Fed us and gave us a home.”

“He doesn’t sound too evil.”

“He did not at first, but… I.” You grit your teeth, frustrated. It was time to tell what happened. You were being crushed under the weight of it all, the death and the abuse and the guilt because when you lay your head down to sleep at night, you still missed the good parts of Anthony. The times where he would comfort you when you cried or buy you gifts with leftover ration cards or patch you up after you would get the shit beaten out of you (sometimes by him). “ _Jesus,_ I miss him and I hate me for it. He could be so good but… there was much that happened that I will not be able to forgive him. I loved him at once, despite what he was doing to me.”

You knew you were butchering the language in your desperate attempt to lay yourself bare, but you couldn’t bring yourself to think hard enough to properly translate.

_"Tell him what happened. He's listening and he cares,”_ Cole said inside your head, echoing in a whisper.

You didn’t even realize you were near-sobbing until your skin started getting unreasonably stiff from your tears drying amidst the chilly air.

“He would hurt me all time, every chance, any way. He would kill one of my friends if I get away. I had to stay with him… then I died.”

“My apologies, Inquisitor.” He reached out, hand shaking, before he quickly lowered it and rested it atop his thigh. You pretended not to notice.

“How do you deal with something like that? _Jesus_ , we are both so fucked up.”

There was a long, pregnant silence where neither of you knew what to say, just retreated into your thoughts.

“That is the most truthful thing I’ve heard all week,” Cullen finally said with a small laugh.

You smiled and wiped at your eyes with your shirt, then crawled over to the edge of the lake to splash some water onto your face. As soon as your fingertips touched the water, your Mark sparked to life, and you cried out, submerging it under the cool surface to soothe it.

A voice called from behind the trees, back at camp.

“Inquisitor, I hate to cut this short, but I’m being summoned.”

You waved him away, not bothering to look back and see him depart.

The Mark seemed to react with the water, leaving your palm tingling and calm. What the fuck was going on with this thing? You could open and close rifts, could knock people back with what Solas believed to be Fade energy, could destroy villages, and now the pain was being considerably lessened by dipping it into water? Could that be some connection to your death?

When you pulled it to you and let the water settle, there was a faint reflection of two people behind you, though as soon as you blinked, they were gone.

You were officially starting to see things. Great.

Deciding that your exhaustion was crossing over into might-fall-asleep-standing-up territory, you decided to head back to camp, storing away questions for Solas to answer back at Skyhold.

* * *

_The Fade. You’ve been here before. Still the same glowing green sky and mountainous terrain. No monsters, yet, though._

_The further you walk, the more narrow passages become. Trees come into view, transform into towering skyscrapers, shaping and molding higher and higher like warm clay. The ground dissolves into pavement. When you look up, you’re back in New York City, still as war-torn but more… bloody than you remember._

_Standing in front of you is the Empress, soaked in red from head-to-toe._

_“You KillEd me”_

_“I—”_

_“This is all yoUr fault. you rUin everYthIng. Corypheus will coME for you. and he will destroy everything youve ever carED about”_

_Her voice is distorted, like a music player that had been dropped into water._

“Don’t listen to this, Inquisitor.”

_You look up to the sky, where the voice came from. It has a familiarity to it, the lilt of the words distinct._

_“You are unLovEd. Your friendS are planning to kiLL you.”_

“She is a demon, Inquisitor. Will her away.”

_“Who are you?”_

_Celene advances toward you, blood dripping like acid onto the pavement._

“This is a dream. You need to wake up.”

_She suddenly lets out a guttural scream then starts to melt, chunks of skin falling to the ground with a thump. Solas walks out from behind her and lightly pushes her, causing her to crumble into a pile of flesh and bone and muscle. Both of you look down at what was left of her._

“You have quite the disturbing dreams, _da’len_. If I knew they were this serious, I would have come sooner.”

_“I—why are you here?”_

“You needed help. I could hear it.”

_“Are you the real Solas?”_

“If you want to believe I am.”

_You blink, deciding to shake off your curiosity. This is a dream, after all. Things don’t make sense. But… there are memories of him coming to your rescue before, into your dreams, easing you through the transition of falling into an unknown place._

_“What was that thing?”_

“A demon. Do you not remember the tome I gave you?” _You shake your head, and he sighs._ “Because of your Mark, demons are extremely drawn to you.”

_He takes you by the arm and leads you down the street, where the scenery shifts. Grass grows from the cracks in the pavement and tickles your bare toes. Buildings crack and fall away to reveal tall trees with ripened peaches between the green leaves. Solas steers you in the direction of a large pond surrounded by bushes of flowers, the only opening to access the water being made for a stone bench for you to sit on._

_It’s so peaceful and surreal. No place can be this perfect._

“How are you?” _he asks as you pluck a flower from the bush next to you and swirl it between your fingertips._

_“Do you really need to ask that? I mean, look at me. I look like shit.”_

“Have you told anyone why?”

_“No. It’s embarrassing.”_

“Da’len, you can’t expect everyone to just know. We’ll listen, and we’ll help.”

_You turn to look up at him, plucking the petals from the flower in your hand. Your thumb runs over the tips of your fingers, the ones that had to be amputated because of the cold and the snow after Haven._

_“This world has given me nothing but grief and death. Every day I wake up and wish I—wish I hadn’t. I feel like I’m screaming but no sound is coming out. I’m trapped here. Do you know what that feels like?”_

“I’m sorry—”

_You abruptly rise to your feet and round on him, and he leans back in shock. “Stop apologizing! Do you know how empty it sounds?”_

“What else would you like me to say?”

_The blank look on his face makes you almost reach out and smack it off of him, but you decide against it. Since this is the real Solas, future meetings would be quite awkward._

_“Tell me why you keep apologizing. With everyone else, it’s… I can tell that they’re just saying it to be nice. But with you, it’s almost like you feel guilty.”_

_His brows raise slightly in surprise, before his face smooths out yet again in feigned ignorance._

“I have an extensive knowledge of the Fade. I know what you’re suffering through.”

_“Bullshit. I may have a lot of issues and I may not be in the best mindset, but I’m not fucking stupid.”_

“Inquisitor, you’re being irrational. You’re looking to blame someone for what happened—”

_“I’m not crazy!”_

“I know you aren’t. But traumatic experiences lead people to draw conclusions that aren’t there.”

_You start to walk away from him, and he catches your elbow._

“Da’len, please. I’m trying to be a friend.”

_“Like you even know how.”_

_As you jerk away from him, a distant voice calls your name, up above the green clouds. Solas begins to disappear, and you can feel yourself being pulled from the forest._

* * *

Immediately sitting up, you gasped for breath, feeling an empty burning inside your chest that constricted your lungs and made tears spring to your eyes. Vivienne reached for you, uncharacteristically whispering assuring words, yet you pushed her hand aside.

You had to get out and away. _Out and away._

When you opened the flap to your tent, ignoring her words for you to rest, you hissed at the throb in your side.

People were already milling about in the early morning sun, gathering up supplies for the long travel ahead. It didn’t take long for you to be approached by one of Briala’s spies, all blonde hair and tanned skin, who was steering you away from camp.

“Inquisitor, I hate to bother you with anything else, but we’ve found reason to believe that we’re being followed,” she said in a hushed tone, an Antivan lilt to her voice, casting a glance over your shoulder to make sure no one else was listening.

Jesus Christ, you could go for another one of Bull’s massages after all this. You might have to ask him when you got back to Skyhold.

You rubbed a palm across your forehead and sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of full leadership fall heavily upon your shoulders. “Have you talked to my advisors?”

“Yes, your Grace. Commander Cullen has assigned active guards around the perimeter of the camp, and he suggests that we take turns on watch.”

You nodded at her in an effort to show that you were listening, though the relentless patter of your heart was the only sound filtering into your head. Maybe Vivienne could do something to help?

“Thank you for telling me. Go get some breakfast.”

She lowered her head in a slight bow and headed back to camp, you following shortly after. As soon as you passed through the line of trees, a bowl of porridge was presented to you by a sympathetic-looking Varric.

You furrowed your brow, glancing over at him as you surveyed your food. Just the thought of eating it churned your stomach. Even though your palate wasn’t exactly refined, you still wouldn’t be able to keep anything down.

“You gotta eat, Sweetpea. Advisors’ orders.”

“I cannot.” You held the bowl out to him with a mild look of disgust. “I am sorry.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head, reluctantly taking back his offering. “Don’t blame me when Ruffles flocks to you like a mother hen.”

* * *

Oh, flock she did. You had never seen someone more dramatic than Josephine Motilyet when it came to worrying over someone she cared about. Not even _Dorian_ was that bad. She was constantly at your side throughout your travels for the day, asking if she could help, if you needed a listening ear, sometimes ranting to you about her own problems (which was a welcome distraction to yours).

She insisted that you at least hydrate yourself, which you did, and the first stop at a village was a chance for her to grab things you “needed”. Collecting first aid stuff, different teas (real practical, Josephine), and a mix of fruits and granola for you to snack on.

It was no surprise when you immediately threw up your lunch into a nearby bush. Dorian was at your side, muttering _there there, dear_ in that voice of his that could make even Corypheus feel better. You found a nearby stream and washed out your mouth, taking the time to refill your water supply. When you came back, a flurry of worried looks were hurled your way.  

“Inquisitor, everyone is quite… worried about you.” Yeah, no shit, Josephine. “Maybe you should sleep in the carriage until our next stop?”

“No, I’m fine—”

“Your Grace, please.” When your ambassador gave you that pleading look, all puppy dog eyes and sad brows, you couldn’t say no. If it were anybody else, however…

“Okay. If it pleases you, I will rest in the carriage.”

A round of relieved sighs reverberated through the crowd of your people, and for a second your heart swelled.

_“Even though their words ring hollow, empty, like bells without sound, they still care, still want you okay. You will rise from the ashes again and again and they will be there, always, ready to kneel before you as their savior.”_

_Thank you for the insight, Cole,_ you thought to him, laying upon the comfortable leather seat inside the carriage. The same spy from before sat across from you. For protection against someone else or yourself, you couldn’t quite say. More than likely both.

You hoped somewhere in the back of your mind that she wouldn’t be another Ella.

_“You hate the thought of leading, of turning into Anthony… You miss his kisses. The soft ones, where he would unwrap you like a present and—and kiss other places, too.”_

_Cole, that’s enough,_ you hissed, hoping that your sternness would come across to him, but it never did when was in mind-reading mode.

_“He’s trapped inside his mind, too. An endless game. The lines of love and lust and guilt blur and he hates himself for it. How can scars become scars if the wounds keep opening?”_

You had a sneaking suspicion that you knew who he was talking about, and it made you feel even more guilty with being so adamant about distrusting him. But you couldn’t afford to get distracted by anything, especially with you getting closer and closer to being home. You could feel it under your skin, electricity crackling excitedly at the thought of seeing your… no. It fizzled out. Why go home when there was no home to go back to?

Oh, yeah. You had to stop an evil magister from taking it over. What a goddamn joy.

“Pardon me if I’m speaking out of turn, but what does the Mark feel like?” she asked, leaning forward slightly.

You sat up, happy to think about something besides your irrevocable failure as Inquisitor.

The Mark sparked to life, pins and needles shooting up your arm.

“It feels like putting your arm into a…” No, that wouldn’t work. “It feels like electricity, but painful, too.”

When you looked up at her and reached out your hand, she gasped, looking at your palm as if a demon had crawled out of it. Well, not that far from the truth.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

You nodded toward the Mark in reassurance, and she skimmed her fingertips over your skin.

“Oh, wow. It _does_ feel weird. Like it’s alive almost:”

Human contact that wasn’t from your inner circle felt amazing. Most everyone either revered you so much that touching you was forbidden, or you were treated as a walking sin given your ambiguous past and the Mark that scarred your hand.

“In a way, it is alive, I think. At least, that is what my friend thinks.”

You pulled your hand back and lay back down on the seat. The conversation ended.

* * *

Josephine finally managed to get some soup into your belly at the next stop so you wouldn’t collapse on everyone, which meant you weren’t stuck sitting in that carriage for the rest of the day. Instead, the people on watch got to sleep on rotation inside the damn thing so they would be more alert for the night.

Everything went smoothly for the first few hours. Dorian shared personal stories from Tevinter, and Cassandra made soup yet again for the three of you, as that was the only thing your stomach didn’t reject. They both suggested you see a healer when you got back _just to make sure._

Well into the early hours of the night, you left camp to use the bathroom and take a quick dip into a lake nearby to wash off the dirt of the day.

“Very nice view.”

You held back a scream and sunk down into the water, turning to face the shore where an elf stood, removing his—is that a Crow?—mask and pulling back his hood to show pointed ears. The light glinting off the water helped you identify this strange person a tad, his dark skin a nice contrast to the tattoos on his face. Even from here you could see his golden eyes, and that was always one thing that startled you about Thedas. _Golden eyes._ You were starting to think you had gained a preference for them.

“I can see you’re enjoying the view as well.” Huh, Antivan. When you didn’t speak, he let out a huff and _sauntered_ over to the rock half-in the water where you kept your clothes. He leaned up against it, stretched like a cat, and said, “I apologize for scaring you, friend, but I wanted to talk to you in private.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He pressed a hand over his heart in mock horror. “You wound me, _bella._ I would never take advantage of a naked woman.” The air felt less heavy after finding out that he wasn’t here to mop the dirt with your corpse, and you managed a small laugh. “I am Zevran. We have talked before, through letters, yes?”

Oh. That Zevran. The one Leliana said to stay away from. Now you understood why he wanted to talk to you alone.

“I remember you. But, that does not explain what you are doing _here._ ”

“Ah, what are any of us doing here?” He gazed out over the water for a moment before turning back to acknowledge you. “Anyway, I was nearby on a contract when I heard that the Inquisition would be in town. Thought I would stop by to say hello in person.”

You narrowed your eyes. This man was way too sketchy to be trusted. Something told you that he had been following you from the beginning. 

“Well, thank you. But, what are you _really_ here for?”

He threw his head back and laughed.

“I’m impressed. You saw right through me.” Under your withering gaze, he halted just a moment before returning to his suave persona. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you covered all of your bases in terms of allies, so I offer you the formal help of the Antivan Crows.”

Oh, _yes._ This was what you needed. Maybe people would start taking you seriously if you had your own spies that answered to you and not Leliana.

“Ah, I see the interest written all over you.”

You took a moment to weigh the options. If this was a formal-but-under-the-table arrangement, nobody would have to know, right? But then, why would it have to be under the table? This was something that you wanted your enemies to know about. Nevertheless, there was no harm in simply going over the terms of agreement with him.

“Meet me back at Skyhold.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He turned to leave before he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “And by the way, you don’t have to worry about those bandits anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know what you think!! my muse lives off of comments and feedback <3


	21. Orlesian Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweetpea should really start on her degree in psychology.

What was determined by you to be a calming night was quickly diminished when you arrived at Skyhold to find that your chambers were overwhelmed with piles upon piles of scented letters, and flowers in vases scattered along the floor. A few dresses, made of the finest silk and dyed beautiful pastel colors, lay upon your bed, with notes attached to them detailing how much they adored you at the Ball. And more explicit things that you couldn’t fully understand.

Damn Orlesians.

Not knowing what else to do with them, you slowly started taking the bouquets downstairs to decorate the tables with, but were unfortunately interrupted by a curious Solas, nosy as ever.

“How did all of these even survive?” you asked, motioning to the new decor thanks to your admirers.

“Magic.”

It was then that you looked up at him, attempted to shut away the embarrassed blush that threatened to show on your cheeks at how you presented yourself in your dream a few nights prior.

“Magic?”

He nodded, unable to keep his focus on you for very long, instead leaning forward to inspect the flowers.

“Yes. Most bouquets sold at Orlesian boutiques are cast with a retainment spell to ensure that the flowers do not wilt on their travels.”

You pursed your lips.

“Smart.”

“Yes, very.”

Solas leaned back, eyes flickering to you once before he bid you goodbye and retreated back into his rotunda.

Sheesh. You were losing and gaining friendships faster than the war had started back home.

Varric strolled in some time later to take up his usual spot, but stopped in his tracks at the sight of all the flowers.

“You trying to kill us with allergies?”

“It is always winter in Skyhold. No allergies.”

“... I guess you’re right.” He lifted a finger to one of the vases then chuckled. “Sweetpea, you know what kinda flower this is?” A brow raised in amusement, thumbing a bright pink petal.

You narrowed your eyes in false thought, not really caring about the different types of flora sent to you by creepy nobles.

“Mmmmmm, no.”

“They’re sweetpeas!” he said with a laugh.

Oh.

“They are beautiful.” Your brain suddenly stewed for a moment in actual thought on a sudden realization. “... And my nickname. What is the meaning, uh, behind them?”

“They’re mostly used as a farewell flower, to show that the giver had a pleasurable time.” When your face screwed up in confusion, Varric raised a hand to reassure you. “I know what you’re thinking, and no. The nickname isn’t meant to be creepy. It’s more along the lines of… well, I—I consider you a good person, and I know you’ll be going home soon. You’ve been good company, is what I’m trying to say.”

You could feel your eyes soften at his confession. “Varric, I am still here.” Eyes were cast to the floor below. “And I may not be going home after this.”

“Why not?”

“There is not much left to go back to. Here I can… I can live. I do not have to kill or steal or—” _no don’t think about it saysomethingelse_ “—or _lie_ to survive.”

Varric sighed before slumping into the chair in front of him.

“I heard about what happened at Adamant.” _Fuck. No. How?!_ “Don’t worry, Sweetpea. I won’t tell anyone. I just never would have thought…” He shook his head and looked up at you, back to his usual charismatic self. “If any more demons come to haunt you, Bianca and I will there to take care of ‘em.”

Your heart swelled, and you didn’t _mean_ to start crying, but it just kind of happened.

“Aw, Sweetpea, hey, it’s alright.”

You collapsed into the chair next to your friend and tucked yourself into his chest, and he let you, even wrapped a sinewy arm around you for security.

It took a few minutes of shameless sobbing before your pride surged again and you turned away from him and attempted to manage your breathing, to compose yourself. His palm pressed steadfast into your shoulder blade, grounding and warm.

“I am sorry,” you muttered, wiping at tired eyes with the back of your marked hand.

“You’re dealing with a lot of shit right now. No need to be sorry.”

“Does Bull have you looking after me?”

Varric chuckled.

“Why, he do that a lot?”

“When we first got to Skyhold, yes.”

“Sounds like something he’d do,” the dwarf said with a sigh.

You turned to face him, yet he was already writing away. A small smile lifted your lips.

“I should go.”

Without missing a beat, he patted you on the knee and said, “As long you’re going to get some sleep.”

“Of course.”

You bid him farewell and went back to your chambers.

The perfumes that were on the letters had all mingled together to create a scent that almost knocked you over when you stepped through the door. You immediately opened the balcony doors to let the smell dissipate from the room and sighed at the cool evening air against your skin.

You took a bath, brushed your teeth as best as you could, and threw on a new mint-green nightgown from Comte de Bouleard. In the letter he attached, it mentioned that he was captivated by your eyes as the two of you danced and thought that green would best make them stand out.

Color be damned, that thing was _comfortable_.

Now that you were in your own bed, amidst the only silkiness and familiarity of the sheets, sleep came easy.

* * *

“ _Foolish girl. Did you really think you could make a difference? After all, it only took one time with little Anthony for him to take your heart.”_

_Why are you reliving this? It’s… it’s Adamant, but…_

_The Fade is the same, mountainous platforms and fade creatures, yet none of your companions are here._

_You start walking toward the sound of the voice, legs buckling under the weight of your body and the thickness of the air._

_Ghosts or visions start popping up along your journey, memories of Anthony, the things he did to you._ The things he said.

_“It’s supposed to bleed the first time.”_

_“Stop screaming or I’ll show you what hurt is.”_

_“I don’t wanna do this, but you make me.”_

_“You feel so nice. You like this, don’t you?”_

_The Nightmare cackles, the sound shrill against your ears._

_A light emanates from the corner of your vision, and you turn to it. It starts speaking. You know that voice._

“He wants to hurt, to scare, to tear you apart again. He can’t hurt you. You did nothing wrong. It wasn’t your fault.”

_Your vision slowly starts filling with light as Cole’s presence grows stronger, protecting you against the Nightmare demon’s false words._

“You did nothing wrong. You don’t have to be afraid. Anthony has no power over you anymore.”

* * *

Cole perched over your form when you woke, silently studying your face. The moon was still out, casting pale light through the windows and across the bed.

“There is something I need to do,” he whispered, the melancholy in his voice bringing chills to your arms, “but not for my sake. For his.” He tapped the side of his head, and you guessed he was talking about the boy he had made his new home.

You were already rising to your feet and gathering a matching robe.

“We will talk about it tomorrow, alright? I promise.”

“Why…? Oh. There’s something you need to do, too.”

Cole disappeared for a moment, allowing you time to wash your face, and returned with a platter of Orlesian treats that were made for the feast the next day in celebration of your success at Halamshiral.

“These will help.”

You took the platter, threw on your favorite slippers that were perfect for middle-of-the-night walks, and half-ran to the Commander’s tower.

_Okay, breathe. You can do this._

You knocked on his door, waited for the _come in!_ that was muffled through the wood.

He was hovered over his desk sans armor, mantle tossed over the back of his chair and sleeves pushed up to his forearms. The sight felt wrong, too intimate and vulnerable.

“Report?” he asked, never looking up from the report he was writing.

“Um, it is actually me.”

Cullen’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and he knocked over the ink pot in his haste to stand before spewing expletives and blotting up the mess with a towel he made you fetch from a shelf in the corner of his room.

You watched the sight and shifted the platter to your other hand.

“I apologize for making you—”

“My clumsiness is the only one to blame.”

He sank back into his chair and let out a shuddering sigh before looking up at you. Exhaustion radiated from him in waves, the bags under his eyes dark blue, like the time Anthony had beat you for being late—no, this was not the time.

“Are you okay?” you muttered, took a seat at the sweep of his hand and placed the plate upon the desk. “I brought… uh, this? As a peace offering.”

He swiped a palm over his brow and managed a strained smile.

“Sweets is the word you’re looking for. And… well, um, thank you.”

Fuck, this was like pulling teeth. And you couldn’t even speak Common properly because of your anxiety. It felt like everything you managed to learn had vanished from your memory.

“I have realized many things, and I have not been nice to you. It was not, uh, fair to you.”

“Inquisitor, it’s—”

“(Name), please.”

Cullen sucked in a deep breath, collected his papers and straightened the edges. You wanted to shake him and tell him to fucking relax for once.

“(Name), it’s alright. I was partly at fault.”

You ground your teeth and picked up a cake with pink frosting. He was one of the few people that had called you by your actual name, instead of Inquisitor or Your Grace or some other form of the two, and you wanted to ask him to repeat it a hundred times over. It sounded so nice to be referred to as _human_ again.

“Why do you blame yourself for everything? I am curious.”

He looked up at you mid-chew, and you could see the gears in his head turning. While you didn’t hate him anymore, actually an acquaintanceship was slowly starting to form, it didn’t mean you still didn’t want to slap him and tell him that he was a good person now, that his past didn’t matter because as long as he was a changed man and he recognized his mistakes he could be forgiven for them.

But instead you said, “The past does not determine your future. I realize now that it does not control me, because I am safe from him. I do not have to be afraid. He is not every man. And that is why I came here. To apologize for… treating you like you were him.”

His eyes grew soft, and you had the sudden urge to cradle him to your chest like a wounded puppy. He never said anything though, just chewed thoughtfully on a small cake.

“You can tell me what is happening. With you, I mean. I will not say anything.”

“You already have enough stress to deal with. Speaking of, you should be in bed right now instead of bringing me complementary Orlesian treats.”

You both laughed, and the air suddenly shifted into something more easygoing.

The rest of the night you talked about other things, about your duties and the stresses that came with them, about your families that you had to leave behind, even talked about your favorite foods (even though Cullen had no idea what _yours_ even were).

He asked about your world, the wars that had went on and the one that was currently ravishing the land.

By the time conversation had died down, the sun was just starting to rise above the treeline and people were already milling about. Cullen had put his armor back on, but left the mantle on the back of the chair. He had told you that the thing was too damn hot sometimes.

“So,” you began with a sigh. “How are things?”

“You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

You shook your head, laughing when Cullen collapsed back into his chair.

“The.. the headaches aren’t as severe lately, but nightmares are a different story.” He cast his gaze over your shoulder, seemingly in thought. “Sometimes I wonder if—if maybe I’m being punished for how poorly I’ve lived my life. Maybe this is the Maker’s way of instilling divine justice for my wrongdoings.” He spoke quietly, bitterness warm on his tongue.

Okay. You had to speak to him like you would a member of the church.

“Have you asked for forgiveness?”

“Dozens of times.”

“Then there is no reason to think that way. You changed, did you not?” He nodded his head. “Then the Maker does not have a hand in this. Maybe this is your… um… I am sorry, I forgot the word.”

“Retribution?” he offered, reaching for the last cake on the tray. “Here, have the last one.”

You quietly took it from his hand, though you had no urge to eat it.

“I should go. Cole had something to tell me last night.”

“Oh, uh, alright. I’ll see you later?”

You opened the door and turned to find him throwing on his mantle.

“Of course, Cullen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, sweet sweet budding friendships


	22. The Plot Thickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Marquis visits and questions are finally answered.

“Inquisitor, nice to see you again so soon.”

You managed a small smile at the Marquis as he entered the War Room, eyes cast toward the map of Orlais on the table, only to blanch in horror once you saw who he was.

“Marquis Etienne, thank you for joining us,” Josephine said, side-eyeing you for your silence.

Your cheeks bloomed blood red from embarrassment, and you kept your gaze on the shine of Cullen’s breastplate to keep from facing the man. _Why did you have so many goddamn drinks?_ _He must think you’re the worst person in the world right about now._

“Well, I couldn’t keep away after the lovely dance Her Grace and I shared.”

Oh, god. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. After appointing Briala as the new throne warmer, you had waltzed back into the party and had gotten so drunk you collapsed into the Marquis’s arms for a clumsy dance. He made verbal advances, but you were too not-sober to care. And now, here he was.

“Let’s just get to business,” Cullen muttered, and you glanced up at his face to see his eyes downcast toward the map, fingers splayed out on the table.

Your thoughts drifted as Josephine talked politics, about land holdings and soldiers and, _hypothetically_ , how much money the Marquis could fork over to the Inquisition.

“It depends,” he stated slowly, and when you looked over he was scratching at his short beard in thought,the lower half of his face not covered by his ornate mask. “What will I receive in return?”

“Whatever you wish—”

“As long as it is within reason,” Leliana finished, a gleam in her eye that you recognized as her seeing right through someone.

When the man wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against his side, you lightly gasped in surprise and would have pulled away if it weren’t for Josephine’s look telling you to stick it out, that the meeting was almost over.

“I would like a simple date with Her Grace. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Oh god-fucking-damn it!

Cullen was quick to defend you, exclaiming the inappropriateness of the situation, before Josephine intervened and turned to you.

“Inquisitor, you have the final say.”

You looked to your advisors. Leliana was discreetly staring at the man, Cullen pretty much told you not to stand for that, but Josephine’s look of pleading made you sigh.

“I need time to think.”

The Marquis laughed and said, “Well, it isn’t a _no_.”

“Tomorrow morning I will have a decision,” you stated, twisting from his grasp. “That is all, everyone.”

Everyone but Josephine filed out into the hallway. She gazed at you with eyes of sympathy and pleading, and you could only guess as to what she wanted to say.

“Your Grace, we desperately need his support. He can not only give us appointed Chevaliers and coin, but he can be a very valuable ally. Please. Do what you must to make him happy.”

You exhaled a breath at the implications of her last sentence, but merely nodded your head in understanding.

* * *

You hated this. Everything was slowly becoming more unbearable and if he moved his hand to your ass _one more time—_

“ _Ma chérie,_ am I such terrible company that you wish to swat me away every time I touch you?” He stepped away from you and rested his forearms on the banister of your outside balcony. “I can leave if you wish.”

Steeling yourself, you released a defeated breath and turned to catch his retreating figure by the arm.

“No. I enjoy your company. I just do not want to rush things.”

The Marquis settled back next to you, the warmth from his body seeping into your dress from where he pressed his side into yours. He took your hand, turned and placed a kiss to the Mark that caused it to fizzle and cast a green light over his masked face.

“Inquisitor, may I be so bold and say that I wish to get to know you better?”

This shit again.

You managed a small smile, though the rejection in your eyes made his own lips fall.

“Ah, I see. Is there someone wrong? Was I too forward?”

The surprise in his voice made you almost roll your eyes. A small part of you wanted to crush this man’s ego, but Josephine called to you inside your head and told you to refrain from misbehaving. You were finally the Inquisition’s leader now. The responsibility befell on you to do anything to protect the people that looked to you for safety and comfort. You couldn’t fail them, had to stop with your selfishness before someone got hurt.

The Marquis’s breath caught in his throat as you lifted the bottom of his mask away from his face, yet he made no move to stop you and instead untied it himself.

Okay, the man was beautiful. His eyes, which were always covered by the conveniently placed shadow of his mask, were a beautiful green in color with a splattering of warm brown in the irises. You traced the sharpness of his brow, the highness of his cheekbone, a straight nose, and found yourself relaxing as his anonymity was stripped away and a slight blush rose to his cheeks.

He cleared his throat and turned away from you, clutching the mask in his hands.

“I always hated wearing this damn thing. Makes it easy to be a man nobility favors, but not my true self.”

You barely managed to sate your self-satisfied smile at his confession.

“And who are you really?”

He laughed abruptly, bitterly, said, “A fool of a man blushing over a woman that I’m captivated with, that is who.”

Oh, so that gaudy ego was just a farce? You were almost relieved to hear him admit that.

“Not a fool,” you simply said, turned to go back inside for another glass of wine and a lounge on the chaise. Your head was starting to feel fuzzy, belly warm from the alcohol. “Join me. Let us talk.”

_Okay. Seducing men was something you were good at. Just don’t freak out._

He poured himself a glass and sat down next to you, rested a large hand on your thigh.

“Inquisitor, I—”

You quieted his reservations with a chaste kiss and pulled away, slightly giggling as he chased your lips.

A knock sounded at the door and you broke away from him to answer it, surprised to find a panting guard standing in front of you.

“What happened?”

“Assassin. Courtyard.”

The blood immediately drained from your face, and you turned to the already-advancing Marquis, an unreadable expression upon his face. You stumbled back into the guard who pushed you aside just as the noble rushed forward, weapon drawn. A loud cry erupted from the former, and you turned to find his throat slit, the Marquis looming over his body.

You crawled back on your hands, oblivious to the blood seeping into your skirts, and said, “You’re not the Marquis, are you?”

He clicked his tongue and twirled the now-bloodied blade in hand.

“Apologies for this. You seem like a lovely girl, but Gaspard is not a fan of being outplayed, especially at his own game.”

You somersaulted backward and tripped down the stairs, damning your impractical shoes the entire way. When you opened the door to the Great Hall, the men guarding the door turned to curiously look at you.

“Everyone, get back to your homes! There has been a murder!” you called out, and turned to the men as nobility swarmed around you, said, “See to it that they are safe!”

The “Marquis” had no doubt already fled from your room, so sending the guards up there to look would be futile. Okay. Think. Where could you— _Cullen!_

You ran straight for Cullen’s tower and made it to the bridge before you were tripped and fell to the cold stone below. You rolled onto your back, pain radiating from your hip, and glared up at your attacker.

He chuckled darkly and cocked his head, looking upon you with idle curiosity.

“Stop running, please. As much as I like the chase…” you stopped listening once, in your peripheral, Cullen’s figure slinked out the door of his tower and crept up behind the assassin. The “Marquis” lowered onto a knee and leaned over you, knife tinted green with what you suspected was poison. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Inquisitor.”  

He managed a small but deep cut to the skin of your throat before Cullen wrapped an arm around the man’s throat and squeezed, grunting from the exertion. The assassin dropped the knife to blindly grope at Cullen’s face, and you could only watch as the man slowly weakened in his grasp. The Commander dropped him with a thump and panted, turning his head to inspect you.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?”

Something about watching a man single-handedly choke someone out to protect you did things to your heart. You had a tendency to forget that Cullen was a hardened soldier, a fucking _legend_ in his field, and it wasn’t until you actually saw what he could do that your mind started to change about him. He obviously kinda sorta cared about what happened to you, and whether it was the Inquisitor or _you_ he needed to save mattered little. You released a breath of relief and allowed him to pull you to your feet.

“Thank you.”

He furrowed his brow and swiped at your neck, pulling away to reveal blood on the thumb of his leather glove.

“Was the knife poisoned?”

“Uh,” you managed to look away from his face long enough to spot the knife lying a little ways away, the light reflecting off of it like an oil spill, “It is green, so I am assuming yes.”

Cullen cursed under his breath and picked up the blade, led you away from the scene with a hand at the small of your back. Soldiers passed and he gave them quick orders to throw the man in a cell until you could spare a chance for interrogation.

“Where is the other assassin?”

“Dispatched,” he muttered, pulling you close amongst the throngs of nobles frantically pacing about until they could be led back into the Great Hall.

“ _Goddamn it_ , I told the guards to make sure they went back home for this very reason!”

“Yes, well, nobles tend to do as they wish, consequences be damned.”

A hand touched your shoulder and made you pause, breath catching in your throat.

“Boss, you alright?”

You released a sigh and collapsed against his chest.

“She has a cut on her neck that was inflicted with a poisoned blade.”

“What kinda poison?”

Cullen handed the knife over and Bull swept the pad of his thumb across the sharpness, inspected the blood that rose on his skin. It turned black and thickened into a gel-like consistency.

“Huh. That’s weird.”

“What?”

“I’ve never seen a poison like this.” He glanced up at you, wheels turning inside his head. “You haven’t felt the effects of it yet?”

You shook your head and wiped at the cut on your neck to inspect it. Still red and runny.

“You thinking what I’m thinking, Cullen?”

The two men shared a knowing look, then turned to you.

“Boss, back home, did you ever work with poison?”

You weren’t sure where this was headed, but you didn’t like it.

“All the time. Wh—oh. _Oh._ You think this came from home?”

“It would explain why you have an odd immunity to it,” Cullen said, scratching his chin in thought. “I think we need to rearrange our priorities in light of this discovery.”

You shot him a confused look, and he glanced down at you, a wicked grin on his lips that kinda made your heart skip a beat. But _only_ a beat.

_Damn it, heart. We agreed on no relationships, crushes included! Stop it! No matter how cute this man is or how much respect we have for him, nothing's gonna happen. Did you forget how we used to hate him?_

He rested a hand upon your shoulder, pulling you from your inappropriate thoughts, and said, “We’re getting you back home.”  

It took you a moment to register what he said, but when he did you stepped back and stared up at him, incredulous.

“No. I like it here.”

Bull came to the Commander’s rescue, put a hand on your shoulder and started to explain, “Boss, no. He isn’t sending you back. There’s obviously a lot of valuable shit in your world that people are getting their hands on. If we can find out how they’re getting it—”

“They are _making_ it, Bull. Corypheus said that even he cannot cross over to my world.”

“Corypheus may not be able to pass over because he’s not from there. Other people, people like you, could, however.”

You released a sigh and looked between them.

“Alright. What do we do?”

“Well, we find another otherworlder. Unless you have another plan.”

_The lake._

“Yes, actually. I still have memories of my death, although very little. There was a lake involved, and a rift in the water that pulled me under.”

“Kinda like Crestwood?” Bull pondered, brows furrowed as he listened intently.

“Yes and no. The rift was not in a cave underground. It was _in_ the water. It might have had the same effect on the… uh, _environment_ , but I cannot remember.”

The men shared a thoughtful glance yet again, then Cullen turned to acknowledge you.

“My soldiers pulled you from a lake near the temple, now that I think about it.”

A sense of unmatched relief washed over you, as if you had finally found the object you spent the whole year and a half searching for. The tie between your world and this one. How you had gotten here.

You finally found the answer for the question you had been itching to solve, so why did dread drop like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach?

Cullen nodded in understanding and turned to Bull.

"Watch over her. Do not let her out of your sight. I must speak with Leliana."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is one of my personal favorites. sometimes even i forget that cullen is a badass who knows what the hell he's doing  
> also why does cullen always show up at the most convenient times? only he knows ;)  
> shit's gonna get wild from here on out as im straying from the main plot of the actual game from this point on so lemme know what you think!!


	23. Zevran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prayers are said, Zevran arrives, and a contract is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing has been so difficult lately and it's really discouraging but i'm trying and that's what matters

Religion. You weren’t a big fan of it back home, even though your family was very into going to church twice a week then praying amidst the wreckage of the War. There was just something about a god allowing evil to happen even though he had the power to change it that didn’t sit well with you.

But when Cullen invited you to join him in prayer the next morning, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. To these people, religion was sacred and personal and even Sera had admitted to praying for you once or twice while you were away on your journeys. To some, it was a last resort. For Cullen, however, it was the only thread he had left to hang onto amidst his withdrawals and demon battling.

So for him to ask you such a thing was a matter of trust. Maybe he was trying his best to right his wrongs with you the only way he knew how.

You just… couldn’t say no.

He met you at the door of the small chantry in the gardens, thrumming his fingers along the hilt of the sword still attached to his hip.

“You came,” he said, slight surprise in his voice. When he brought up a hand to rub at the back of his neck, you fought back an amused grin. “I mean, not that I didn’t want you to show, not at all, but I… um, yes. Never mind.”

You gave him a slight smile and ran a hand up and down your bicep to ward off the chill of the morning air. Discomfort twisted inside your gut, made your heart beat a little too quickly.

“Well, I have nothing to do until Zevran shows today, so…”

He blinked then nodded his head and opened the door, motioning you inside.

The room was lit with candles that sat upon the altar, a statue of Andraste that loomed over you. You gulped, unsure of how to go about _praying_ and you were positive that you could feel a presence weigh down your shoulders as you approached… her.

The room warmed as Cullen shut the door and moved to stand next to you, lighting a few extra candles so it wasn’t so dark and propping his sword up against the altar.

_Why did you agree to this again?_

“Cullen, I—” you cursed yourself as your voice wavered, so your cleared your throat and tried again, “I do not know what to do.”

He released a breath through his nose and sank to his knees with a small groan, no doubt from aching joints, and you quickly followed.

This felt wrong. Terribly, terribly _wrong._ You felt as if you shouldn’t be there, an intruder of a practice that you had no right to partake in, a true Otherworlder.

His voice broke the long stretch of awkward silence.

“I didn’t bring you here to preach about Andraste or the Maker, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I figured that, if anything, this may grant you the peace you need, given your circumstances. Personally, I find strength in the Chant. It keeps me going when I feel all hope is lost.”

You ran your hands down the front of your dress to wipe away the sweat and took the hand he offered you. It engulfed yours, warm and surprisingly soft even though he had handled a sword for years. You guessed it was because of strict self-care rituals from his Chantry days. _My body is a temple_ and all that.

It grounded you, calmed your nerves because in a strange way he was there, fighting the same battles you were and then some. You glanced over at him, his eyes shut and face softened, making him look a lot younger than he did _without_ the soft shadows and golden halo of hair. The ends were just starting to curl, and you smiled.

And then you began silently praying, embarrassed at the thought of doing it the wrong way, though Cullen whispered the Chant under his breath effortlessly. You prayed for your safety and the safety of your friends, for the men who were fighting alongside you and the ones who had lost their lives in the name of the Inquisition, for your people back home, for Cole to find his way and Varric to rekindle his love and Sera to find a home and Cullen to find happiness and Xena to stay alive and for yourself. For peace and guidance and answers and _forgiveness._

When the tears fell and parting words left your lips, you squeezed his hand and looked up at the figure of Andraste standing mightily over you, and for a moment you felt small and safe and you swore you heard a voice say _everything will work out._

Both of you rose and Cullen pulled his glove back on and gathered his sword and you parted ways as Skyhold began to rise from its slumber.

You still weren’t keen on religion, but you left knowing a small part of you had been mended.

* * *

Zevran arrived later that day, all swagger and compliments that made you blush like the Inquisitor most definitely shouldn’t.

Leliana was less than thrilled to see her old friend, though she promised that she would allow you to follow your gut as leader and do what was best for the Inquisition.

You stood at the War Table, Zevran at your side and your advisors in their usual places.

“The Crows will be the Inquisitor’s personal spies, mainly for when she can’t go through Nightingale for missions.” When Leliana opened her mouth, Zevran quickly cut her off. “Dear Leliana, there are things that need attention that would ruin the reputation of the Inquisition should word get out that you were involved. I’m merely trying to give the Inquisitor an extra set of allies to keep her safe. From the gossip I heard on my way in, Her Grace was in danger quite recently, yes?” He turned to you with a proud smirk and wrapped an arm around your waist. “Trust me, Inquisitor. We will have lots of fun.”

You gulped at the purr in his voice and managed a weak smile. “I am look… look…ing forward… to it.” You cursed the failure of your memory as you brain seemed to forget all traces of Common you had learned. 

You were genuinely happy about working with him, anxiety be damned. There was something about having a whole mess of spies in your back pocket that gave you a surge of confidence that you had desired since you woke up in that prison. You felt in control of something. It was a relief. 

Leliana failed to hide her own grin. “Alright, Zevran. No need to tease her. She looks about to burst into flames.”

He laughed and slapped a hand against your shoulder, said, “I jest, Inquisitor. _Unless…_ ”

A blush immediately rose to your cheeks, and you averted your eyes away from his golden gaze to stare at the candlelight glinting off of Cullen’s breastplate.

Josephine, bless her heart, interrupted with, “I will write up the contract and have all parties look over it in a few hours. Until then, I suggest everyone rests while we have a moment to breathe.”

You immediately took your leave, the stifling room unbearable. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you wanted Zevran to fuck you atop your desk or never touch you again. Feelings are strange that way.

He caught up with you and grabbed you by the arm, and you stopped. At least this time you didn’t flinch. Maybe all of Cole’s hard work and the grace of Andraste has paid off, because there was one thing you were sure about.

You weren’t afraid of him like you would have been a year ago.

“Inquisitor, I apologize for being too forward. I’m not used to people being… unreceptive to my charms.”

You couldn’t help but giggle in earnest and playfully pushed at his chest.

Then Cullen walked by, gave you a smile that crinkled the outer corner of his eyes and tugged at the scar on his lip, and your heart stopped. _Not this again._ He placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Inquisitor, when you have a moment I would like to discuss some possible routes about… uh, the thing we mentioned a few days ago.” Getting you back home. “I have some paperwork that needs my attention, but you can stop by later.”

You nodded your head and averted your gaze to sit just over his shoulder.

“Of course.”

He nodded to both of you in parting, and as soon as he left the hallway, Zevran turned to you with a broad grin on his face.

“Oh. I see. The commander has gotten to you first.”

You sighed and shook your head.

“No. We are just friends.”

He let out a short laugh that echoed inside the hallway and made you flinch at its unexpectedness.

“Oh, my dear. I know attraction when I see it.” With another grin, he lowered his head and peered up at you through his dark lashes. “He likes you.”

 _No,_ you wanted to say, _he likes the person I represent. The Herald._ Now that you thought about it, it made sense. Religion was, after all, a huge part of his life.

You chose to stay silent and instead allowed him to lead you through Josephine’s office and into the Great Hall. Zevran offered to fetch some drinks, but you politely declined under the excuse that you weren’t an evening drinker.

* * *

You found yourself in the Chantry again, twice in the same day. You closed the door so the only light came from the low-burning candles on Andraste’s statue. It made everything more intimate somehow.

English was your language of choice, as you assumed that she knew what you were saying, Bride of the Maker and all.

“I… don’t know if you can relay my message to the Maker, but I would really appreciate it. I mean, I like talking to you more because you were human at one point. You understand what I’m going through, because from what I read, you went through the same things.” You took a deep breath to steel yourself and settled down on your haunches. “I just… I want to know if I’m doing the right thing. If I was meant to be here. I feel like I abandoned everyone back home only to come to another shitty situation, but in a different way.” You cast your gaze down to your lap, where your thumbs were battling restlessly against each other. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m lost. Really lost. I just... need a sign or something. To let me know that I’m doing a good job, and that everything is gonna be okay.”

“You pray?”

You whipped your head around at the stranger’s voice to find Mother Giselle advancing out of the shadows. She held out a hand to stop you from rising and sank down onto her knees next to you.

“Commander Cullen started me on it. He thinks it will help me cope, and I will try anything at this point.”

She nodded in understanding and lay a hand upon your shoulder, levelling a piercing gaze at you that you couldn’t look away from.

“If you understand it, religion can help even the most hopeless people find a reason to get up at the beginning of each day.” She turned her head to stare up at the carved face of Andraste. “It is… beautiful, to say the least. It instills hope in us, a comfort that there is a higher power working in our favor.”

Something suddenly clicked.

“Did the Maker not _forsake_ you?”

She smiled gently, a far-away look in her eyes.

“I do not believe that. He is disappointed in us, as a father usually is with misbehaving children, but he still loves us because we are his creation. He still wants to see us happy, and will do whatever he can to ensure that. I believe _that,_ with all my heart.”

Something swirled in your chest, light and airy, and you sucked in a deep breath through your nose.

“Can the Maker help _me_?”

“Of course he can, child.”

You shook your head and said, “No, you do not understand, Mother. I am... broken.”

“He can provide the adhesive to put you back together, if you will let him." She gave you a worried look and a furrowed brow. "Inquisitor, I am very concerned about you. You are not taking care of yourself as you should be—”

“I am fine.”

She let out an amused breath from her nose and said, “So adamant. At least talk to someone about everything that has happened. You will feel much more free.”

How the hell could she see through you? Well, now that you thought about it, anyone could see that you were struggling with _something._

You sighed and nodded your head, then stood with a sharp gasp of pain as your knees caught.

“I should go to Cullen.”

When she called your title, you paused to listen.

“Lean on the people that care for you. It is no burden, child, no matter what your mind may tell you.”

“Yes, I will… be sure to do that. Thank you, Mother Giselle.”

You left the chantry and sucked in a deep breath to calm your nerves, head lolling as the crisp night air did wonders to your brain.

_Relax. Breathe. You’re still here. You aren’t dying._

**_You can do this._ **


	24. Old Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More bonding and trust is broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to be dramatic or anything but I just wanna let you guys know why my writing may be a tad bit off (read: short and simple) for the next couple chapters, so I don't want pity or anything!! I talk about mental illness a lot because it's such a huge part of my life next to writing, and a few days ago it got to its worst point and I attempted suicide. I'm stable but I'll be feeling the side effects for a little while as my brain tries to get back to normal. So yeah, I'm gonna keep writing cause this is the only thing that I can find happiness in, even though I'm not in the best mindset right now.  
> If you struggle with suicidal thoughts, please get help before it's too late. Talk to someone you trust, go to a hospital, or call the suicide hotline (1-800-273-8255). Please don't get to the point I did because your brain is very fragile and it can be permanently damaged by something like this.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Uh, no.”

Cullen sighed and passed you a plate that _wasn’t_ his own as you sat down. Did he…?

“It may be a tad cold, but it’s better than letting yourself starve,” he said, giving you a warm smile. “Mother Giselle brought your health to my attention today, as if I didn’t already know. She backed me into a corner and wouldn’t let me leave until I promised to watch over you.”

You laughed, scooped up a small bite of mashed potatoes and moved to eat. But you paused as a swirl of nausea hit your gut at the wonderful smell and ultimately lowered your spoon back onto your plate.

“Inqui—(Name), please.” He ran a hand through his hair and kept your gaze locked with his, as if he could will you to eat if he looked at you hard enough. “I can get you something else if you’d like.”

You shook your head and tried again, forcing yourself to swallow against the ache in your stomach. The more bites you took, the more you realized just how hungry you were, and the more your nausea faded.

The two of you ate in silence, a thankfully comfortable one of camaraderie and budding friendship. Oh, who were you kidding? With everything that’s been happening lately, you couldn’t think of him as anything less than a friend.

“When was the last time you took lyrium?” he asked, setting your plates aside.

You furrowed your brow in thought and finally stated, “A little over a week.”

His brows rose and he sputtered for a moment, and you sank deeper into your chair at the heavy gaze he was giving you.

“Maker, Inquisitor, that’s been your problem. You cannot just stop taking lyrium.” He released a deep sigh and slumped forward onto his desk. “Maker, why did Solas start you on that? He knows the side effects.”

“It helped stop the Mark from spreading,” you explained, voice small as Cullen’s own rose in irritation. “And is that not what you did?”

He ignored your last question. “But at what cost?!” His voice turned pleading, and he reached across the desk to grasp at your hand. “(Name), please do not take it again.”

“What about the withdrawals?”

“I…” he glanced off to the side, over your shoulder, “have a personal healer that crafts certain tonics to help with my symptoms.If you’d like, I can extend those services to you.”

“Is that why you always smell like elfroot?”

He blinked for a moment then, realization suddenly passing over his face, laughed and released your hand to lean back into his chair once more.

“Yes, that is why.” Both of you smiled at each other before he cleared his throat and glanced away. “Anyway, I brought you here to discuss the various plans I have laid out on getting you back to your world.”

You nodded your head and followed along as he began briefly explaining both plans. Either find someone like you, an otherworlder, or travel to the lake that you came out of.

“How will we know if someone is an otherworlder?”

Cullen shrugged and explained, “We can travel to one of the big cities like Orlais. You can speak your language and whoever answers back is the one.”

You scoffed. “Do you think someone will fall for that?”

“Oh, most definitely.” He gave you an amused smile, and you shook your head in disbelief.

“The Commander can actually make jokes. A miracle.”

“Varric says I need to smile more.”

“You deserve to. I do not know anyone else that has given so much to the Inquisition.”

He shot you an unknown look over the rim of his mug as he took a drink, and when he lowered it you gulped at the wetness of his lips, almost headed over when he darted out his tongue to lick them clean.

_Maker, why are you thinking about this right now?! Stop it! He’s the commander!_

“What about you?”

The question caught you completely off-guard, and it took you a moment to answer as your mind unfogged.

“Me? What have I done?”

“You’re the foundation of this entire movement. Without you, there is no Inquisition.” He cast a glance to the desk below, and you stared down at the fidgeting of your hands. “I know it’s taken… quite a long time for us to show it, but we do care about you.” When your eyes met, there was a vulnerability in the pools of gold that made your heart skip, but you couldn’t look away. “And I mean _you_. Not the Herald, or the Inquisitor, or the Otherworlder. You.” Your chin dimpled with oncoming tears, and you had no choice but to let them fall. You heard the scrape of chair legs but didn’t dare look up, even when a gloved hand fell upon your shoulder. “It’s alright to lean on us for support. You’re carrying all of this by yourself, and you don’t have to.”

You didn’t know what to say, if you could even say anything through your tear-filled hiccups. Cullen kept his hand on your shoulder as you cried, squeezed lightly in a gesture of comfort. In a rush of both confidence and need for affection, you pulled him down and wrapped weak arms around his shoulders, breathing in elfroot and armor polish and a touch of sandalwood. He stiffened for a moment and you made to pull away at his discomfort, but he wound his arms around you and stood, pulling you to your feet to hold you against him.

_Stop this! He’s just using you he’s just like Anthony he’ll break your heart like the others don’t trust him—_

**_SHUT! UP!_ **

You managed to stomp out your skittering and nonsensical thoughts and relaxed into the embrace, definitely completely platonic, no question.

After a few long moments, you pulled away and wiped your eyes, feeling exhausted yet relieved at finally being able to release your pent-up stress and sadness at everything you were suffering through. Cullen leaned back against the desk and cleared his throat, bringing your attention back to him and the pink splotches high up on his cheeks.

“I… hope I could help at least a little.” He brought a hand to the back of his neck and cast his gaze to the floor. “I’m not good at comforting people, if I’m being quite honest.”

You wanted to cradle his face in your hands and press a kiss to the adorable blush on his cheeks, but you suppressed the urge and stood in place.

 _Wait, did you just refer to the commander as_ **_adorable_** _?_

You froze and immediately sat down in your chair. What was happening to you? He was a friend. A very new friend. A man you had once hated but were now starting to… care for? No. This wouldn’t do.

“Commander, I—”

A pounding at the door made the both of you jump before a soldier strode in then halted once he saw you sitting there.

“Inquisitor!” He looked between the both of you and his eyes widened. “Maker, my apologies. I didn’t know you were busy, Commander. I can come back—”

“Just give me the report, soldier,” Cullen snapped, face screwed up in irritation. You were proud of yourself by not flinching away at his tone.

The poor man stumbled over his words as he relayed Leliana’s message. You got up and walked over to the bookshelf to give them some privacy, but listened as he spoke. Something about the Qun looking to be allies with the Inquisition. Although you liked the idea, having one of the best armies at your fingertips, a swirl of something odd resonated in your gut. You pushed it back to think on it when it was ultimately brought to your attention.

The soldier left shortly after, and you turned to find the commander already sitting at his desk, pouring over papers that looked similar to the ones waiting on your own desk.

“Well, Commander, thank you for everything… I have work to do, so I should go. And let _you_ work.”

He looked up at you and raised his brows, twirled the quill between his fingers. “Of course, Inquisitor. If you should need anything, you know where to find me.”

* * *

You made it back to your room and were immediately bombarded by Cole’s thoughts.

“Two souls brought together by darkness. They find solace in the night, yet also cower from it. He can’t sleep. Neither can you.” He sat cross-legged on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as you dressed for bed. “I’ve done all I can to help. Now it’s your turn. Tell him.”

You moved to lay under the covers and watched as he curled up next to you.

“Tell him what?”

“How you feel.”

“... How _do_ I feel?”

Cole opened his mouth to say something, then quickly closed it. “You’ll know.”

“I—” You huffed when your friend disappeared and left you alone, without a word of solid advice.

* * *

The next day moved at a snail’s pace. You met with Zevran and Josephine to look over and sign the contract, checked up on each of the members of your inner circle (they _all_ had tasks for you to complete, as always), and finished some last minute paperwork that you passed on to Josephine to take care of.

Just as you were ready to take a short nap before the war meeting later that night, a knock sounded at the door. You invited the guest in, deeming them safe if the guards let them pass through.

A balding man strode in, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled warmly at you.

“You must be the Inquisitor,” he said, voice gruff and low. “The Commander sent me. He said you were having withdrawal symptoms similar to his own.”

“Not nearly as severe, of course.”

He nodded his head in agreement and pilfered around in a bag thrown over his shoulder. “Why, of course. But the premise is still the same, dear. Anywho,” he pulled out a vial of clear liquid and held it out to you, “this should help you eat and get some rest. Take it at the beginning and end of each day, and you should notice a difference by the end of the week.” He huffed. “Thank the Maker you stopped taking that poison when you did. It makes the detoxification process much shorter.”

_So, lyrium is just like an addictive drug from back home. You have to flush it from your system._

“Thank you, sir—”

“Oh, no matter. I’ll leave you a few days’ supply, so just come see either me or the Commander for more.”

He dumped out the contents of his bag on the bed and strode out, leaving the room in silence.

You looked at the vial in hand and popped off the cork, wincing at the strong smell of mint and some sort of musk. As soon as the mixture hit your stomach, warmth bloomed to the tips of your toes, and for the first time in days you felt the fog lift from inside your head.

_Cullen is an angel._

You managed to eat a bowl of soup and joined your advisors inside the War Room. When you walked in, they were bickering amongst themselves but quickly quieted at your presence. Odd.

“Something wrong?” you asked, taking your regular place at the table.

Morrigan suddenly strode in and stood next to you, an air of mystery surrounding her just like it did at the ball.

“Corypheus has managed to procure an eluvian, which means he has endless access to every other eluvian in the world.” The corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Well, if he knows how to activate it, that is.” You sighed and slumped forward onto the table. “Do not fret, Inquisitor. He hasn’t gotten too ahead of us yet. T’would be quite the spectacle if that were so.”

Cullen spoke up, “This just proves that we need to send the Inquisitor to the temple as soon as possible. We cannot let Corypheus have the upper hand—”

“ _Or_ ,” Morrigan reasoned, “the Inquisition marches to the Arbor Wilds like was originally planned.”

Originally planned…? You turned to curiously glance at Josephine, and she gave you an apologetic look.

“We were going to tell you, Your Grace, but—”

Oh.

“Were you, Josephine? Or were you going to leave my hands tied yet again?” An anger rose in your chest, scalding hot, and you barely managed to keep your fury from boiling over. “Cullen, you were not going to tell me?” _Even after the time we spent together?_ you wanted to add, but immediately decided against that. You knew that a hurt had clouded your vision as you looked upon him, and when he said nothing in his defense, you chose to turn away from them. “I… see.”

You saw the way Morrigan glanced at you out of the corner of your eye, almost pitying, and you screwed your face up in annoyance.

Your first mistake was putting your full trust in them, because they obviously still didn’t trust you. Even after everything you had sacrificed. You felt used. So utterly used, and it made you want to bleach the feeling from your insides.

No. For once, you were going to take the initiative.

“Send a summary to my room. I do not feel well.”

A chorus of pitying words followed you as you left, but you didn’t go to your room. Instead, you found yourself standing in front of Bull as he sat inside the tavern, lazing on his chair with a mug of ale in hand.

“Hey, Boss. What’s up?”

You gave him a wry grin and leaned forward until your noses were almost touching, asked, “Wanna go on a little adventure?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're under the impression that Morrigan already met with the advisors without Sweetpea's knowledge, which is what she was referencing before Sweetpea stormed out.  
> Also, why was Solas so adamant about putting Sweetpea on lyrium, even though he knows the effects?? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Who knows.  
> I promise I know where this is going. Kind of. Maybe.


	25. A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time, folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've revised and reread and rewritten and reread this chapter and although i know nothing is seriously wrong, it still doesn't sound like my writing at all and it's frustrating me to NO. END. but enjoy, loves!

You led Bull to the nook behind the tavern, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“I am going to the temple.”

He blinked at you before realization sunk in, and his mouth made a small ‘o’.

“So, when you said _adventure_ you didn’t mean…?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. What was he— _oh_.

“No, not sex. An actual adventure.”

His shoulders slumped in disappointment and he muttered, “Well, damn. I mean, that works, too.”

A laugh bubbled from your throat at his reaction, and you wrapped an arm around his, cheerfully said, “Do not worry. It will be fun!”

“More fun than being _arfenjol_ and _pemwir_ to your bed?”

“I… no. I do not know what you said, to be honest.”

“Well, you see—”

When he started demonstrating a person being hogtied and gagged, you stopped him.

“Okay, focus. Back to the adventure.” You held your hands out to get him to listen, and he ducked his head to stare at you intently. You spoke lowly, as if telling a secret, which you sort of were. “My advisors do not know about this. I am telling you because you are my friend, and I trust you.”

“You’re not going by yourself, are you?”

“No. I want you to come. And a few others.”

He nodded his head and looked off into the distance, his gaze set over your shoulder.

“Ya know what, Boss? This might work. We just gotta keep it secret enough that your advisors don’t find out. Especially Red. Eugh.” He shivered, and you chuckled, sharing the same exact viewpoint when it came to Leliana. She was fucking terrifying. “Anyway, if you’re done, I got a drink and a waitress calling my name.”

You waved him off and said your goodbyes, and proceeded to speak with Sera and Dorian.

* * *

 

You honestly should have expected it. No matter how secretive you had been, Leliana always found out. It was like she had spies in the walls or something.

What you didn’t expect was Cullen to be the one to confront you.

He handed you a cup of hot chocolate as you crested the stairs, and he sat upon the chaise next to Xena, who was lounging on the floor next to his feet. You stood at the arm and looked down at him, brow furrowed. Was he not going to yell at you? Or say _anything_?

The room was silent. So silent that it made your brain play static to keep occupied. You sipped idly at your drink until you were courageous enough to speak.

“What are you doing here?”

He sighed and looked around your room, gaze soft and eerily solemn.

“I have a few reasons. I didn’t want to be alone at the moment, for one. For two… well,” he took a sip of his drink and sat it on the end table, “I’d like to formally apolo—”

You shook your head.

“Just stop. I am so _tired_ of apologies.” Anger bubbled up inside you, made you almost nauseous. You slammed your mug onto the table, thankful that none of it spilled. “You hurt me. Again. And you told me you would-would not. Why did you not tell me? Do you hate me that much? Was everything you have said a lie?”

He whipped his head around at your last accusation and stood up, and you almost wanted to punch him for being such an ass.

“Nothing about these past few weeks was a lie. I—” he shook his head, seemingly to clear his thoughts, and looked down at you, gaze searing against your own, “I’ve never felt more normal when... Listen to me. I’m sorry for keeping such an important plan from you, but I…”

You barely managed to blink back tears at the hurt in his eyes and voice as well as the hurt swirling within you, and instead snapped angrily, “What? _But what_?”

He stepped forward then, slowly, as if not to spook a nervous horse, until you were arms’ length away from one another.

“I’m selfish, (Name). So very selfish. I—Maker, just… forget I ever said anything.”

He attempted to rush past you, but you caught his arm and turned him to face you.

_Kiss him. Do it. It’s so obvious that he cares, and you care, too, right? Don’t pass this one up._

“Cullen,” you cooed, coaxed him to turn and look at you with a palm pressed to his cheek. “It is alright. I understand.” You took a deep breath, wrapped an arm around his neck, and pulled him down to press his lips against yours.

 _This_ was heaven. It felt so so right, and when he quickly reciprocated and coaxed your mouth open with the flick of his tongue against the seam of your lips, you couldn’t help but shiver. He tasted of tart chocolate and cinnamon, and the warmth of his lips and experience of his tongue made coals start to simmer in your belly. You couldn’t bring yourself to mind the scrape of his stubble against your cheeks.

“I’ve been wanting do this for months,” he said, voice low and gruff. Then he closed his eyes and ducked his head to place kisses along the side of your neck, and you ran shaking fingers through his hair.

His hot mouth on your skin made you weak, and you called out to him. You needed… something. His warmth, his skin on yours, him _inside_ you. The need was so strong that your skin burned under his gloved touch as he caressed your arm, your side, wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you against the hardness of his breast plate. All thoughts of worry or uneasiness were swept away like leaves in a stream.

Then a knock sounded at the door, and the spell was broken. He pulled away to look at you, lips swollen and pink, and the wave of horror that passed over his face made you furrow your brow.

“Inquisitor, I’m so very sorry. I—”

“I wanted it, Cullen.”

The knock grew louder and you yelled at the mysterious person to give you a second.

He blinked at you, eyes skimming over your face, and you ran your thumb down the bridge of his nose and over a cheekbone before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I never thought that this could happen,” he whispered, gazing down at you in awe. The smile that broke out on his face was contagious, and you pressed a final, more shy kiss to his lips before walking over to the door.

“A letter for you, Ser,” the soldier stated, avoiding your eyes as he handed you an envelope with nothing on it. Just the faint smell of woodsy musk.

You thanked him and sent him on his way, then walked back over to the bed where Cullen and Xena now sat.

“What is that?”

You plopped down next to him and opened the letter, absentmindedly brushing your fingers through the mabari’s fur.

_Inquisitor,_

_I know who you are. Come to the Korcari Wilds for answers._

_-A Friend_

You turned it over in your hands to see if you were missing something, _anything_ else. This couldn’t be it.

“Hm. What a peculiar letter,” Cullen mused over your shoulder, and you turned to look at him. “Do you think they’re telling the truth?”

You shrugged.

“Only one way to find out.”

Then you suddenly remembered the temple and inwardly groaned. Plus you had to take Cole to Redcliffe, accompany Bull to the Storm Coast, and go with Varric to meet his lady love. Everyone else seemed understanding enough to go off and take care of things by themselves, which saddened you. But you were only one person. You couldn’t do all this at once.

_This is exactly fucking why you needed to be caught up to things instead of being left in the dark. So you had time to spend with your friends. And also why you shouldn’t have been so wary to call them such. Maybe then this divide could’ve been avoided._

He rested his chin on your shoulder to bring you from your thoughts and muttered into your ear, “I know that you’re planning on leaving soon. While I can’t stop you, I would advise you to please think about going so unprotected.”

You hummed.

“Is that why you did not tell me about the Arbor Wilds? To protect me?”

He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and stood up.

“If I’m being completely truthful, then yes.” He leaned forward to place his palms on the bed, trapping you between them. “Like I said before, I’m selfish.” He averted his gaze to the side and furrowed his brow, and you had half a mind to soothe it down with a finger. “But I have to ask. What changed? I’ve been trying to repair this… relationship for months.”

You cast your eyes to your lap and sighed.

“Once I realized you were… not Anthony—a lot better actually—I saw you differently. It just took me a long time to get here.”

He moved to sit back down next to you.

“So Cole was telling the truth…” He looked off in thought for a moment then seemingly snapped back to the present conversation. “I admit that I had my fallacies, also.” When the corner of his lip upturned in a smirk and his scar caught the light, you leaned forward to kiss it. “The first time I met you, I was…” he sucked in a deep breath, wrapping his hand around the nape of your neck, “awestruck. I mean, there you were, a seeming miracle or answered prayer in our time of need. It clouded my judgement for too long. Then I started to see you as human, because you are. You’re more than a symbol of hope, more than the Inquisitor, more than your powers.”

Well. That put a whole perspective on things. Hearing him say the words brought you assurance that he _did_ see you as more than an icon.

Man, this whole situation was complicated. Yes, you admitted that you did care for him, and you unknowingly had for a while (or maybe you just didn’t want to accept it in fear of being hurt again). But there were still some things you needed to fix within yourself. Cullen might’ve already dealt with his baggage.

“Just to make sure, you do reciprocate these feelings, right?”

You leaned back and looked at him, warmly laughed at the worry on his face. “Yes, Cullen. As if I kissed you in a _friendly_ way.”

“I’m just wondering,” he muttered, looking absolutely offended. “You’re quite difficult to read.”

You sighed and, after debating for a moment, leaned into him.

“Varric has said the same thing.”

The two of you (three if you counted Xena) sat in an almost uncomfortable silence. You didn’t know what to do, how far was too far when it came to affection just yet. After all, you weren’t dating. You just shared a simple kiss… and budding romantic feelings for one another.

“Cullen, I have never even been in a relationship.”

“That makes two of us, then.” He cleared his throat. “If you’d like, we could… figure it out together?”

“I would like that.”

Another stretch of silence until your commander took his leave, suddenly realizing how late it was and how the paperwork must have been piling up on his desk. You were both shy and red-faced, and your eyes didn’t really meet as he spoke. You almost swore that he could feel your hesitation, and that there was a bit on his end, also. There was no hug or kiss, and when he left you felt the loneliness creep in. You felt like a little kid again, with butterflies in your stomach from meeting the eyes of your crush in the school’s hallway.

Cole appeared as you readied yourself for a bath, cross-legged on your bed.

“Things are different. He’s happy. _Never thought I could have her_ he says _she’s_ _too good for someone like me._ You’re… scared. But he doesn’t want to hurt you.”

Okay, so no hesitation on his end. Maybe he sensed yours.

“I don’t wanna rush into things just because I’m excited that a man truly cares about me. I’m, yeah, I’m really scared,” you confessed in English. “I’ve never done this before, Cole.”

“He isn’t Anthony. You know this. Anthony does not live in every man, especially Cullen. I’ve seen his heart.”

You were trying your hardest to sort your feelings out, but they were so jumbled—and your brain didn’t really understand them to begin with—that it made the task impossible. Why were you starting to sort through these things now? You thought you were already over and done with this.

You thought a bath would clear your head, but it only brought on thoughts that were becoming more and more frequent.

“Do you want me to invite him? It would help.”

“No, Cole! Jesus Christ, no.”

* * *

The next night, while everyone was asleep, the four of you snuck out to the gate and started readying the horses for your trip. You were almost finished when Sera spoke up.

“Ya know what, Inky? I think this’ll be… good for us.” Sera finished the last few words with a groan and glared at something over your shoulder. “If it isn’t Mr. Puss in Boots.”

You turned around just as Cullen strode up to you with a strained smile on his face.

 _Fuck._ You had been avoiding him since the kiss.

“I'm not going to try and talk you out of this, but I just wanted to speak to you for a moment. In private.”

You turned to look at your friends, and Bull and Dorian quickly shooed you away while they promised to prepare Demon.

Cullen led you over to the tents and stepped behind one for privacy, you following after him.

“Inquisitor, I—”

Oh, that hurt.

“Cullen, you do not—”

“This may not work… No, wait, Maker’s _breath_ , I didn’t mean that. I don’t know what I’m saying. Just be safe. No matter what you think of me, can you promise me that?”

You had never seen him so high strung before, and it slightly worried you.

“Listen, I am sorry that I have not talked with you, but I have been busy. Trying to… walk through my feelings.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Just stared. Then he lifted his hand and meekly traced a fingertip along your jaw. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, hands warm despite the cool air.

His voice was soft when he spoke, dejected.

“I don’t want you to leave. Especially considering there are only four of you, and Maker only knows what will happen since you’re unprepared.” There was almost a double meaning to his words.

You reached up and took his hand in yours, feeling your palm tingle at the contact. But there was still a part of you that screamed about how wrong this was, how you didn’t deserve to move on with someone else. How he could hurt you.

_No. I trust what Cole said._

“You can come if you want.”

He immediately rubbed at the back of his neck and looked over at the tent behind you, eyes slightly unfocused.

“I couldn’t. There’s so much paperwork and—”

“Do you not have an assistant?”

His eyes flicked over at you, brows risen in surprise.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then come with us. You cannot worry if you are there with me.”

He furrowed his brow for a moment in thought them looked down at you, eyes the color of cooled caramel in the darkness. There was a look of mischief in them, and you could almost guess what he was going to say.

“Let me bring a few soldiers. My best men. Two at most.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed.

“Cullen, no.”

“One.”

He silently pleaded with you, and you eventually sighed.

“One. That is it.” You pointed a finger at him and gave him a look that dared the man to object, and he simply gave you a lopsided smirk that weakened your knees, and you quickly fell into a shy smile. “You make it hard to be mad at you.”

“A nice change of thought, I’d say.”

He curled a hand around the nape of your neck and ran his thumb along your pulse, and your mouth went dry at the dark look he gave you.

Just as you rose onto the tips of your toes, Bull’s playful voice called out to you.

“Are you two done dicking,” a chorus of sniggers, “around so we can leave?”

You didn’t get a chance to back away. Instead you were pulled against him and kissed until your brain was fuzzy.

“You are insatiable,” Cullen muttered, almost growled against your lips.

_Fuck it. Just jump in and give it a chance._

When you swept away your thoughts, Cullen was ascending the steps toward his tower and you were still left behind the tent. Right.

Bull gave you the biggest shit-eating grin as you sauntered over, feeling warm and fuzzy.

“You two finally a thing now?” he asked excitedly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to shake you.

“No, Bull.”

“Really? ‘Cause the,” he motioned with a finger around your lips, and you quickly pushed his hand away, “lower half of your face is suspiciously rashy.”

Your other companions piped up with their thoughts.

“The Commander _is_ quite dashing.”

“You were serious when you said you liked that tit?”

You rubbed a palm against your forehead to fight against an oncoming headache and groaned.

“I will explain later, but listen. He and another soldier are coming with us.”

“Oh, this is gonna be rich,” Bull said with a low chuckle.

“Everyone play nice, especially you, Sera.”

“Oh, pish. Dory’s the one you need’a worry about. He might try to take your man.”

You mounted your horse will a large sigh.

“He is not my—Jesus Christ, whatever.”

Dorian leaned over toward Sera atop his horse, eyes narrowed.

“By the way, Sera, I don’t need to take anyone’s man.” He sniffed, almost as if he were offended. “I can get my own just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, budding romances. Two kids in love. This is gonna be interesting.


	26. Enemies to Friends to ???

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You really shoud've thought about letting Cullen tag along, especially with Bull and Sera sabotaging you around every corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry it's been so long but good news!!! i finally found a doctor and am getting help and i've felt a lot more normal and leveled out lately which is really nice, because it means my writing juices are flowing and ready to go

Poor Cullen looked completely out of place amidst the four of you. The look on his face whenever Bull would say one of his sexual jokes made you snicker. He would just raise his brows and twist his mouth up, as if he were both surprised and disgusted.

You were starting to think Bull kept doing it on purpose, like he was a lot of things.

Within the first two weeks, Cullen’s tent suspiciously went missing. When he came to you with the news, you looked over his shoulder to see Bull discreetly high-fiving Sera, as if they were playing a game to see who could make the two of you the most uncomfortable. And to be honest, you didn’t know who was winning.

“That is alright. Mine is big enough for two people,” you told him mildly, suppressing the urge to scream at the sky.

This experience was something you just didn’t do. Flirt, dance around obvious feelings, get attached to people. You were a simple woman back in New York, after all. Run, survive, please Anthony, run some more. Feelings were something you either suppressed or just didn’t have. Relationships weren’t a thing, instead being replaced by casual sex. To be fair, though, with people being killed left and right, it didn’t make sense to have extra baggage in the shape of a romantic partner.

Anyway, to say you had very little experience with relationships was an understatement.

“I can sleep with Bull if you want,” he offered, gloved hand massaging at the nape of his neck. Whether from an ache or nervousness, you weren’t sure. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You shrugged and said, “No, you are not.”

“Oh. Alright. Well,” he cleared his throat, “thank you."

* * *

That night, _someone_ thought it was a good idea to steal your clothes while you were bathing (you just knew it was Sera) so you had to walk back to camp in only a towel. It was humiliating. Bull and Sera managed to get a few jeers and whistles in before you ducked into your tent, face burning like hot coals. Cullen had already made himself at home it appeared, as he huddled over a candle to finish up paperwork, sleep clothes on and hair in its natural state. You had heard from Hawke how curly his hair was, but you never believed it.

No wonder he used so much pomade.

He threw a glance over his shoulder after he heard you enter then quickly turned his back to you, said, “Apologies. I won’t look.”

A small part of you wanted him to.

You swiftly changed into your favorite nightgown and snuggled into your bedroll, content on spending the rest of the night watching Cullen’s back. Fortunately, he finally settled down for bed next to you a few minutes later.

The tent was dark, objects barely visible with the small amount of moonlight shining through the fabric. Still, it wasn’t difficult to tell that he was watching you. Unrest lingered in the air, thick and heart-pounding.

“What are you thinking of?” you whispered, voice overwhelming in the static-sounding silence.

“Patrol routes,” he said quickly, causing both of you to share a small laugh.

 _He’s a man of guidance and discipline. Make your intentions clear, dumbass!_ you thought to yourself, furious at how you had clammed up. _He may not know about romance, but intimacy he’s confident with. Just do it._

You held your breath as you slid out from under the sheets, air freezing against your warm skin, and crawled over to him, surprised when he lifted his own covers up for you to slip under.

“It’s supposed to be rather cold tonight, anyway,” he muttered as you pressed your front against his, then he soothed a hand up and down your back.

There was silence, so much telling silence and it was obvious that neither of you knew what to say.

“Listen, I… I want this to work. I like you so much, and I am sorry for how I, uh, treated you in the past.”

“I deserved it, love.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the pet name, and you pulled yourself tighter against him and buried your face into the crook of his neck.

“No. You did not.”

“May I offer an explanation at least?” he asked, lowering his nose to your hair. When you didn’t respond, he spoke again. “I already told you that I, well, revered you as many others did. But,” he let out a soft laugh that reddened your cheeks for an unknown reason, “well, this is quite silly but, I started to like you. And I reacted in a way that was very unbecoming.”

You leaned back to look up at him and, gently, tentatively, brushed a curl off his forehead before your stomach dropped. He furrowed his brow.

The dark played tricks on you, morphed Cullen’s features into him. Always him him him. Red hair and dark eyes and the skin tone was perfect. It made you sick.

You thought you were done with this.

“You look as if you’re about to—”

_No don’t think about him you’re okay it’s Cullen not him you’re okay you’re okay_

You scooted enough away from him to where you weren’t touching at all, and he thankfully didn’t reach for you.

“Would you like for me to get a candle?” he asked mildly, almost cooed, and when you furiously nodded your head he rolled over and rummaged for a moment before the sight of soft light filled your lungs with a breath of relief. He sat the candle and its holder in the gap between the two of you and settled back into bed. “Better?”

You nodded and reached out for his hand to prove that he was real, that all of this was real and it wasn’t just a cruel nightmare that you would soon wake up to and find yourself in the ruins of New York again.

“I am sorry.”

The comforting smile he gave you made you relax. It wasn’t _his_ smile.

“Don't apologize. I know how difficult it is.”

“Do you still have trouble with it?”

He gazed over your shoulder, eyes darkening, and replied, “It has gotten easier, but there are still many things that I struggle with, and I-I know that they’re irrational because I’m not _there_ anymore but I can’t help it.”

You hadn’t meant to start crying. You really hadn’t. But it just seemed like life had laughed in both of your faces and left you with lifelong guilt and fear and disgust that you couldn’t seem to wipe away no matter how hard you tried.

“Sometimes I feel as if the Maker has really forsaken me... I dedicated so many years of my life to the Chantry’s cause and for what? Memories that won’t leave me and a lyrium addiction that wants to kill me.” He chuckled, a bitter sound, and you couldn’t agree with him more. “And now, we have the end of the world nipping at our heels and you might be returning home.” He met your eyes and you couldn’t look away no matter how hard you tried. “That’s why I was so cruel to you, by the way. I liked you and I didn’t want those feelings at all, because I never knew when you would leave us.”

The room seemed to spin from so much vulnerability circulating between the two of you. This was the most you had ever heard from Cullen, and you almost suppressed the urge to pull him to your chest and run your fingers through his curls.

Almost.

You wordlessly sat aside the candle and laid back down next to him, the warm light softening his features, and you wandered your gaze over a blonde brow, down a sun-freckled nose, to the scar on his lip. You swallowed down your pittering heart and kissed him, softly, innocently, as if two worlds weren’t being crushed under the heels of demons and you both weren’t two fucked up souls who had found each other amidst the chaos.

When you pulled away, you tangled a hand in the thickness of his curls and tucked his head under your chin, sighing when he rested an arm over your hip. You were so torn between heart and brain, between wanting to bare every part of yourself to him and wanting to close yourself off in fear of being hurt. What if you couldn’t please him? Give him what he wanted? What he needed?

You needed to stop this before he realized that he deserved better. Better than how fucked up you were and how scared you were and how you might eventually decide to shut him out and push him away once he got too close to figuring out… you. You, under all the hype and the reverence and the statues being erected in your honor. You were nothing special, nothing but a scared little girl who was balancing two worlds atop a fractured heart.

You detangled yourself from him and moved back over to your own pallet, blew out the candle, and rolled over to face away from the confused gaze burning into your skin.

* * *

The next morning came too quickly. Soon enough, Dorian was outside telling you to get your ass up, and you managed to crawl over to the tent entrance and raise the flap. You glanced over your shoulder to find Cullen already gone.

“Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beatrice. What in the Maker’s asshole did you say or do to the dear commander last night?”

You furrowed your brow and searched for a washcloth inside your bag, asked, “Why? What happened?”

“Oh, just that he’s been in a dreadful mood all _blasted_ _morning_. Sera’s been joking about filling him full of arrows, but I think you and I both know that there’s a hint of truth to that statement.”

You heaved a sigh, cursing yourself for being such a damn idiot. Could the second thoughts and anxieties not wait until after this trip? Now the whole thing was going to be awkward and uncomfortable for everyone.

“I will… _goddamn it_ , I will go talk to him.” You gathered up your armor and toiletries. “After I freshen up.”

* * *

What a shitty idea it was to wear something so revealing. The bugs were relentless, and seeing as you wore a thick leather corset, skirt, and knee-high boots (with leather knee braces, gloves, and corresponding elbow and shoulder pads of course) you were targeted the most.

It was to be noted that Bull was unfazed because they couldn’t seem to get through his skin. He mocked you about it the entire time.

“So, Boss?” Bull wrapped a hand around the back your neck to get your attention as you walked, but with the small stroke of his thumb across your skin, you knew that he knew that you needed to be calmed as well. “You know where we’re going?”

“There is a map, is there not?”

The warmth of his hand disappeared and you almost cried. You needed a break, a hug, and something to kill.

“Of course, Boss. I just figured that, well, by what you’re wearing—”

You rounded on him in that moment and craned your head up to look at him, eyes set ablaze with irritation. He simply challenged your gaze, a gleam in his eye that made you want to rip it out entirely.

“Shut up,” you hissed, immediately turning to start walking again.

You had given the horses a break, not wanting to announce that you had to force your body to do something or you thought you would burst. Everything was grating you. The chirping of the birds, the uneven dirt path you were on, even Sera’s sneezing made you want to fucking scream.

Bull’s taunting wasn’t helping, and you knew what he was trying to do. Get you to break, to pass your limit, to hit him. He was trying to be the outlet that you needed, and although he would suffice, you couldn’t necessarily print out Cullen’s face and tape it to his chest like you needed to.

Stupid Cullen. Making you feel all this stuff toward him that made you want to gag. 

“Inky, let’s go for a break, yeah?” Sera called to you, and you almost laughed at her all slouched over and dragging her feet through the dirt.

“There should be a lake nearby, Your Grace,” Cullen’s soldier, Tomlin you think his name was, added.

As badly as you wanted to keep going, your feet were absolutely killing you and your legs felt like they were being mashed with a meat grinder.

“Alright. We take a break.”

It was about a five minute walk before you saw the lake, and everyone’s mouths dropped in awe once you burst through the tree line. The lake was so clear you could see the bottom, stretching a football field in length. A stepping rock formation at the far side looked like it was used to dive, and the water cascading off the rocks left a little nook that was the perfect place to hide.

“Maybe we _can_ swim for a bit,” you mused, noting how sharp and vivid everything looked. The foliage, the rock edges, the tree bark.

Sera, of course, wasted no time in stripping to her underwear and diving into the water.

You, however, were wary. Something… didn’t seem right about the water. The whole place, in fact. It looked out of place from the rest of the forest.

“Inky, you aren’t gonna jump in?” Sera called to you as she splashed Bull with a huge wave of water.

“No, I am fine,” you replied, content with simply sitting against a large tree and having some fruit slices or something.

Everyone else swam but you and Cullen. You, because the water scared you, and Cullen… well, it was _Cullen_.

Against all odds, both of you managed to work together to find a cave nearby where you could eat gathered fruit away from the heat of the sun. There was a tiny pool, too, with cold water to cool you off.

You bared your legs and sat on the edge of the rock, submerging your feet and calves inside the water.

_Just say it. Like ripping off a band-aid._

“About last night…” you sucked in a deep breath, “I got scared when I did not need to.”

“I thought I did something wrong.”

You turned to him, noting the armor piled up at his side and the curls at his temples.

“No. It was me. All me. I am just…”

“Not used to this?” he finished, flashing you a knowing smile. “It’s alright. I haven’t let this sink in yet, either.”

You lifted your legs out of the water and crossed the distance between the two of you on hands and knees. You kneeled next to his outstretched legs and pulled at his tunic, trying not to linger your gaze on the newly-revealed chest hair that was as light as his hair. It took everything in you not to run your fingers through it.

“Let us start over. Talk about our fears and… um…”

“Alleviate them?”

When his lips spread in a teasing smile, you couldn’t help but to quickly kiss him.

“Yes.”

So you talked. About your pasts, about your anxieties, about your fears, and found that you had a lot in common, a lot of things you had to work on. And it helped. Reaffirmed that, _see, I told you he isn’t like Anthony_. You just had to take it day by day. You had to _try_.

Also, Cullen was completely different from Commander. A lot more buttoned-down and funny, and much less calm and collected (which you most definitely attributed to unknown anxiety).

You walked back to the lake without redressing, and instead stuffed your armor into your packs. It surprised you. Cullen was the type to always be ready and dressed for battle. Just in case. After the initial shyness and embarrassment passed and the bonding over being fucked up locked in place, you felt as if you could talk to him more freely, and you noticed he spoke more frequently as well.

So far, so good.

“Have you two lovebirds decided to swim?” Dorian asked as you cleared the trees and came to the shore of the lake.

“I did not bring my _bathing suit_ ,” you said, dropping your pack on the ground.

Everyone looked at you as if you had sprouted another head.

“What the fuck is that?” Bull yelled, face scrunched up in confusion.

“Back home, we have a special outfit that we swim in.”

Bull looked around at the people in the water and reasoned, “I mean, we’re all naked, so…”

You and Cullen shared a mutual and amused _fuck that_ look and instead decided to sit on the lake’s edge.

The moment your legs touched the water, the Mark sparked to life and you were yanked under, pulled by some unseen gravitational force toward the bottom of the lake. Nobody had time to grab you. You screamed as the same burning sensation from the very beginning of your journey rose from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

No. No nononono no no! _You couldn’t go home_.

Everything slowed. The whole lake was alight with green, crackling with lightning. You saw your friends off to the left being pulled down with you, struggling against the invisible bonds. They had lied about being naked. You weren’t sure how relieved you were.

You assumed this process took a total of ten seconds to witness, but time had dragged out and seemingly stopped altogether while the world-crossing was happening to you.

It was a clusterfuck when you woke up.


	27. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so yeah, New York still sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had this whole chapter written out but scrapped it because i hated it so i wrote it again and that's kind of what took me so long especially considering this one is 4k words WOW im proud
> 
> also ive been having trouble with my medication and that sucks cause it has slowed my creativity to a crawl but im never creative so thats nothing new
> 
> last thing: these next few chapters are gonna be DEFINING moments for just about every conflict in the story but im pretty sure you can tell whats gonna happen cause im extremely predictable and i hate it

After being in Thedas for so long, New York felt like drifting through a fog that held no end. It was dreamlike, would’ve _felt_ like a dream if the bodies littering the streets weren’t so vivid and people weren’t crying over them.

“And I thought Tevinter was depressing,” Dorian commented somberly, kicking away a newspaper being carried by a gust of wind toward him.

“We need to get inside. It is not good to be out right now,” you said, trying your hardest to suppress the wrongness you felt inside your chest.

New York didn’t feel _real_.

A hand on your shoulder made you jump until you realized it was Cullen, and you looked up at him, suddenly realizing how thankful you were that he was with you.

“Are you alright? You’re pale,” he said, brows furrowed in worry.

When he tenderly brushed the back of a finger over your cheek, you managed a weak smile to sate his concerns and surveyed the city ahead.

“This just does not feel like home anymore,” you confessed, releasing a large breath in an attempt to relax the pressure against your ribcage. “It feels…. wrong.”

With a glance over your shoulder to make sure your friends had kept close, you began walking toward the apartment you shared with Ivy, another member of Anthony’s gang. She was always kind to you, always protected you against the other violent citizens that resided in the city and even against Anthony a few times. You considered her a good friend.

Said woman greeted you at the door with a disbelieving shake of her head, gun at the ready in her left hand.

“Holy shit. Sweetpea. We all thought you were dead.”

“I did, too.”

She walked down the steps to pull you into a tight hug, and you collapsed against her. She was familiar, safety.

“Where the hell have you been?”

You pulled away and grasped her shoulders.  
“I’ll explain later. For now, can we get inside? I don’t trust it out here.”

“Of course, let’s—” When her mouth fell open and she stopped speaking, you suspected she finally found Bull. “Sweetpea, what the fuck is that?”

You turned to look back at him, rolling your eyes at the smug grin on his face. He couldn’t understand her, that much you knew, but you guessed he still reveled in the attention her reaction brought him.

“ _He’s_ something I’ll also explain later. Now, can we…?”

Ivy snapped out of her trance with a shake of her head and led the six of you inside, up to the fifth floor.

The apartment was just as you remembered, even after a year of being gone. An open layout of the kitchen and living room, with a hallway to two small bedrooms and a non-working bathroom. Except now, it felt as if you were a guest in your own home.

Ivy eyed you critically, glancing around at your friends as they inspected the furniture with looks of confusion and awe.

“Okay, spill. What the fuck is going on?”

You sucked in a deep breath and began filling her in on the events of the past year, giving her nothing more than the basics and adding, “So, Bull is a qunari and Sera is an elf.”

She leveled a disbelieving gaze at you, mouth slightly open.

“Ya know, if I didn’t have the evidence right in front of me, I would send you underground to live with all the other crazy people.” A shake of her head. “What even _is_ a qunari?”

“They’re like…. humans but with horns and thicker skin? I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Ivy turned to assess your group, still inspecting different parts of the living room, and gave them a long once-over before stopping to size up Dorian.

“Ooh, he’s—”

“—Gay, don’t bother.”

She quickly pouted, then her eyes landed on Cullen.

“Hot damn…” she turned to you, panicked, “Wait, can they understand me?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, good. So, what’s Golden Boy’s story?”

“Golden Boy? Really?”

“It fits, right?”

You released a deep breath and lifted yourself to sit on the kitchen counter, Ivy quickly following.

“He’s the commander of the Inquisition I’m leading,” you explained simply, too exhausted to go into detail. “But anyway, we need to find them… normal clothes.”

“Yeah, where’d you guys go to? A medieval convention?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Ivy, my _life_ has been a medieval convention.”

“Oh. Yeah. Forgot about that. So, like, you fight with a sword and stuff?”

“Bow and arrow, but that’s not the point. Let’s get back on topic: clothes, Ivy. Where can we get them some clothes?”

“Well, that girl can borrow an outfit of mine, and I’m sure Damien or Alex would let the guys borrow some stuff. Not sure anything would fit the giant, though.”

“His name is Bull.”

“Bull. Right.”

Ivy left to visit the two brothers down the hall, both of whom you were very familiar with. They had enlisted in the military that patrolled the streets once martial law had set in, and had been good friends with your parents. Both urged to stay in the apartments instead of some fancier setup for the soldiers because they wanted to still be connected to the citizens or something stupid like that.

“So, (Name),” Dorian ambled over to you then leaned up against the counter, “this is where you’ve been living?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“This is actually a most depressing place. I was expecting something… _more_ from the future.”

“Does chaos count? Death?”

Dorian released a sigh, suddenly deflating.

“If we can’t get back to stop Corypheus, I’m afraid there won’t be a future for anyone.”

“We will. There are just some things we have to do first.”

* * *

Like you had predicted, no clothes were able to be found for Bull. The other three men, however, looked like different people in jeans and tees and sneakers. Where Ivy had found the shoes, you didn’t want to know.

Because Ivy was, well, Ivy, she tossed Cullen a flannel that she had stolen from Damien while he was distracted.

“Why Cullen, though?”

She gave you an _are you serious_ look and rolled her eyes.

“Because attractive men look even better in flannels?”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Do you still have my clothes here?” you asked her.

“They haven’t moved from your bedroom, Sweetpea.”

You gave her a nod in thanks and parted ways as she left to find Sera something to wear and you went to your sparsely decorated bedroom. It was large enough to fit a corner bed and a dresser and nothing else but a small side table. The air smelled stale and dusty, so you opened up the sliding glass door to a small balcony overlooking the remnants of New York City and stepped outside.

A knock at the open door made you whip your head around, and you were relieved to find just Cullen standing there, looking awkward and out-of-place.

“You okay?” you asked, fiddling with a leather strap on your armor.

He released a sigh and sidled up next to you on the balcony, looking out over the streets.

“I feel so… unwelcome here.”

You furrowed your brow and reached out to put a hand on his arm.

“Cullen—”

“Not like that. I mean, my simple presence just feels _wrong_.”

“Like the air is… um…” you racked your brain for the word in Common, “suffocating.”

“Yes.” He sucked in a deep breath and released it, resting his forearms atop the railing. Then he turned to you, eyes a piercing gold. “Is this how you feel back in Thedas?”

You weighed the question for a moment, feeling brave enough to lean into his side.

“At first, but it is barely felt now.”

He took another deep breath, stilted, almost as if his chest couldn’t expand enough.

“Are you sure you are okay?” you pressed, rested a hand against his chest. “Let us get inside.”

You led him over to the bed and moved to close the balcony door but he quickly grabbed your wrist and said, “No. Leave it open.”

Then it dawned on you. Cullen was experiencing anxiety and he didn’t even know it.

“What is the matter?” you asked him quietly, sitting on your knees next to him on the bed. “What has you upset?”

He lifted his brows and looked at you as if you had just dishonored his whole family.

“I—” he finally relented, moving to rest elbows on knees. There was a short silence as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not used to… not being in control. Being in an unknown place with no knowledge of _anything_ , and then I think about what you went through, how we treated you despite you being scared and alone, I just—” when he reached over to take your hand, you bit back a gasp at the skin contact then fought the urge to kiss him when he locked eyes with you, “I can never apologize enough.”

You gulped down a sob, started to refold the sleeves of his flannel, paused when he gently grabbed your hand and flipped it over and brushed his lips against the inside of your wrist.

_If he doesn’t stop, Maker only knows what you might do._

“I have missed this,” Cullen purred, pulling you to him to press his lips against yours. He pulled away just enough to mutter, “It is a welcome distraction as well.”

You smiled and buried your face into the curve of his neck, inhaling the unfamiliar scent of his clothes. They didn’t smell like him, not pomade or armor polish or something underlyingly masculine and undeniably _Cullen_.  

“I would love to continue but I need to get dressed,” you muttered, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

He sighed, pressed a kiss to the top of your head and added, “I should probably make sure Bull and Sera aren’t breaking everything.”

Cullen reluctantly got up and left, leaving you to sort through what little clothes you had in your possession. In the end, you settled with a large t-shirt, a pair of torn jeans, and sneakers. It felt nice to be back in normal clothes, as well as actual underwear.

Jeans were also a nice place to put a small dagger should anything go awry.

When you walked back into the living room, Ivy immediately waved you over, face pale. You vaguely noticed the woman standing at the door.

“What is it this time?” you asked with a sigh, looking up toward the ceiling.

“Listen, Anthony knows you’re back.” You straightened at the mention of his name. “I’ll hold him off for as long as I can, but you and your friends have to get out of here. I have a friend, Pamela, who can get you into the underground tunnels and outside the city. That's her over there.”

“What about you?”

She looked at you, eyes somber and brimming with tears, then pulled you into a tight hug.

“I can’t let him hurt you anymore. Just… this is what best friends do. You would do it for me, I know.”

 _Best friends_.

You fisted your hands into the back of her jacket.

“I would, Ivy. Be safe.”

She pushed you away and wiped her eyes.

“I love you, Sweetpea. Now go. He’ll be here any minute.”

As you and your friends quickly followed Pamela through halls, down stairs, and into a large hole in the basement floor, you felt a weight in your back pocket. Kudos to Ivy for being as sneaky as always. You didn’t dare check to see what it was until you were finally inside a maintenance room right next to the subway.

It was a note and some sort of circular symbol on a gold chain.

_Kill Pamela. She works for Anthony. The symbol is what you need to follow to make it back to your otherworld. I wish I could explain more. Get the info from her. You know what to do._

You pocketed the note and managed to keep a straight face using the training Vivienne had given you before the Ball. So, Ivy knew the whole time? Or maybe she had heard whisperings but never believed them until you showed back up. Whatever was going on here, you needed to find out. Thank fuck you knew how to fight.

Everyone followed Pamela through the subway, and you were shocked to find that platforms and rooms and tents had been built and placed atop the tracks. People had made lives, a _city in itself_ down here.

Before long your tenseness was picked up on by Bull, who caught up to walk next to you.

“Everything alright, Boss?”

You gave him a deadly look, then flicked your eyes up ahead to Pamela. He quickly nodded his head and fell silent.

“How long is it gonna be?” you asked the woman.

“It’ll be a few days before we can make it out of the city. Subways aren’t a straight line to freedom, sadly.” She laughed, looking back at you, and you quickly joined with a chuckle of your own for the sake of appearances. “Fortunately, I have connections that can get you and your friends a place to stay. Unfortunately, you’re gonna have to fend for yourself after we get to this train up ahead. I have places to be and all.”

“Oh, uh, alright. Can we stop and rest somewhere?”

She cracked her neck and loosened up her shoulders, as if she were preparing for a fight.

“Of course, Sweetpea.” Her voice was sweet like honey, barely masking the venom.

You bit back a growl as Bull very lightly elbowed you, throwing you a furrow-browed look.

“I think we are walking into a trap,” you muttered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

He said something in qunlat, and Pamela whipped her head around to assess the two of you.

“Sweetpea, a word?” You steeled yourself as she led you inside some makeshift house and shut the door. The click of a lock made you cringe, and then you were locked inside a room with a woman who had surely been plotting your death. She rounded on you, backed up against a wall. “Give me the necklace that Ivy gave you and _maybe_ I’ll get Andrew to spare her.”

_Oh, this cunt._

She grabbed your arm and attempted to push you to the ground, but you used the momentum to your advantage and twisted into the fall, fisting her shirt in your hand and bringing her to the ground with you in the process. It took only a second of her being stunned for you to straddle her and strike her hard in the face, blood spurting from a busted nose. You didn’t risk the chance of her gaining the upper hand so you pulled the dagger from the waistband of your jeans, holding it to her throat.

“Well I’ll be goddamn, Anthony was right about you,” she said through grit teeth. “You’ve changed a lot from that scared little runner, haven’t you?”

“War has the tendency to do that,” you said simply. “Now stand the fuck up and back into that corner or I’ll slit your throat where you stand. Is that clear?”

She grinned but did as she was told, arms up and hands facing you to show that she was unarmed. You quickly unlocked the door and called Bull over, keeping eye contact with her the whole time.

 _You know what you have to do_ , Ivy’s words echoed in your mind.

“Get the rope from Sera’s pack and—” you had to repeat the words again in common after realizing you had spoken in english, “bring me that chair.” You nodded to the chair sitting in front of a desk inside the room.

Bull quickly followed your orders with a, “Right away, Boss,” and, for obvious reasons, you let him tie Pamela to said chair.

You dragged her out into the subway out of respect for the person living in the one-room house and plopped down across from her on a dirt-covered couch.

“Now. Pamela. Here’s what we’re gonna do.” You leaned forward and rested your elbows on your knees, your face a few inches from hers. “I need answers, and you have them. For every answer that I don’t get, I’m gonna take one of your body parts. That clear?”

“Wow, torture? Aren’t you clever, Sweetpea.” She smiled at you, almost in appraisal, the lower half of her face smeared in dried blood. “If I weren’t supposed to drag you back to Anthony, I would say we should go on the road and start our own gang.”

You chuckled, the adrenaline pumping through your veins making you much bolder and a lot more violent. It scared you, deep down. How much Thedas had changed you, how desensitized you were to such violence, how you didn’t realize what you were capable of until you had no other choice. You didn't recognize yourself in that moment. It was liberating to know that you weren’t some weak little child who couldn’t fend for herself, but frustrating because you had unknowingly let yourself be treated like nothing more than a doormat by your advisors this whole entire time. It was what caused you to accidentally come here, for fuck’s sake.

“You underestimate me, Pamela.”

“It seems everyone does, don’t they?”

This reminded you of the Ball, of the vague, back-and-forth, pseudo-philosophical bullshit you had to encounter that night.

In one swift move, you twisted the dagger in hand and drove it through Pamela’s palm and into the arm of the chair. She cried out but sat still to stop the pain from worsening.

“(Name)!” Cullen said in alarm, but you barely spared a glance at him before focusing back on the woman hunched over before you.

“What does Anthony want with me?” you asked, voice calm and low, like you had seen Leliana do many times before.

“I don’t know. He didn’t—” you twisted the dagger slightly, “—ahh, okay okay stop!” In one smooth motion, you yanked it from her hand and sat it in her lap. She growled through grit teeth and tried to steady her breathing. “Okay, listen, he said something about a Cory and needing you to control passage between the worlds!”

“Who’s Cory?”

“I-I don’t know!” You picked up the knife and rested the tip atop her other hand. “Listen, I swear. I think he’s Anthony’s boss or something but he never goes into detail with me.”

“So Anthony knows about Thedas?”

“Yesyesyes he does.”

Then it dawned on you.

“Is Cory from Thedas?”

She squinted as if she were racking her brain then said, “Maybe. Like I said, the only details I know are the guy’s name and that he wants you for some reason.”

You nodded your head and stood up, white-knuckling the hilt of the dagger in hand.

“Thank you for the info, Pamela, but I can’t trust you enough to—”

“No fuck please don’t kill me I’ll do anything I swear! I can get you out of town! I’ll kill Anthony myself if you want just please don’t kill me! I have a daughter and a son that I have to feed. That’s why I’m doing this job. For them. You have to believe me!”

Then reality settled like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach, nauseating and overwhelming. You couldn’t, in good conscience, deprive two children of their mother. Not after what had happened to you.

After you untied her and bandaged up her hand, apologizing profusely in the process, you gave her a choice: either stay and help you take down Anthony or go back to her kids.

“I’ve been looking for a chance at redemption for a long time, Sweetpea. Looks like this is it. Taking down that bastard will be the best thing to ever happen to this city.”

You met with her men a short while later and were led deeper underground to remain safe until you could figure out a plan to coax Anthony out of hiding.

Pamela had stationed the six of you in some kind of underground bunker, said that these used to be used by New York’s most prestigious but they had moved on to bigger and better things and left the places deserted, which were quickly found by scavengers and used as bases for underground crime. Apparently there were many like the one you were staying in, linked by passageways, similar to the setup of the Deep Roads.

“(Name).” You jumped, looked away from the bookshelf you were sifting through to where Cullen stood, arms crossed. “We need to talk.”

You sighed and lowered your gaze to the floor.

“Cullen, I know what this is about.”

He walked over to you and took your face in both hands, forcing you to look up at him. But his gaze only held concern, not anger or fear or judgement.

“(Name), what happened?”

“I—I guess all the anger I was holding back, I took out on Pamela. I did not know who that person was back there. She scared me.”

“Are we the cause?” At the look of confusion on your face, he explained, “Of your anger, I mean.”

You took his hands in yours and rolled your lips into your mouth, then finally admitted, “If I am being honest, yes. About what you said, me being helpless and scared? It has never went away, and it has made me very bitter.”

He cooed at you and pulled you to his chest, strong and sinewy arms, another person’s touch providing you comfort.  

“I’m so sorry. If I had known all of this previously, I promise you, the part you would have played in the Inquisition would have been—”

You glared up at him, exasperation feeding into anger, and abruptly pushed him away. He stumbled back into a chair, a look of bewilderment on his face.

“It is not about the Inquisition! It is about trust, has always been.”

He released a heavy breath, jaw clenching.

“It is almost as if you wish for us to fail, (Name). You will not even give me a moment of your time before you push me away!” He ran a hand through his hair, curly from the heat and his sweat and all you wanted to do was run your fingers through it and apologize and kiss him and apologize, but you were frozen in place. “I have treated you badly in the past, that I cannot deny, but you will not let me prove myself to you. I was struggling with things, too. I still am, but I'm here and I'm fighting everything telling me to run the opposite direction. Because I want... Maker, I want to believe that I deserve happiness. That _we_...”

As soon as he started shaking his head, you cussed yourself to hell and back because _fucking fuck you really messed up why couldn’t you have kept your stupid mouth shut and shoved this incessant fear of trusting him down your throat?_ When he turned and left, slamming the library door behind him, you didn’t follow. Books were thrown across the room and why were you suddenly sobbing and why did your chest hurt so much? You hated everyone and everything and you didn’t even know where home was anymore and you were so scared and all you wanted to do was curl up under a nearby table and hide from the world.

So that’s what you did.

It was Pamela that came to collect you, warily calling your name from the hall. You wiped at your eyes but didn’t crawl out from under the table.

“(Name), where are you? We have to get going.”

Her voice carried over into the library.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

At that point, you were so cried out and tired that you didn’t care if she saw you in such a state. You felt like a child, all vulnerable and self-pitying. If she were to drag you out from under the table and sink a blade into your neck, you wouldn’t have fought back.

When you blinked back into the future, she was sitting down a few feet away, looking at you.

“I could kill you right now, ya know,” she stated truthfully, stretching out her legs in front of her.

“I don’t care.”

“Mm. Trouble in paradise?”

“There’s always trouble and never paradise, sadly. I mean, even since I was a kid, I’ve never had a chance to be happy. And then Cullen just… walks in here and flips my world upside down and I’m still reeling from what Anthony did, so I’m still afraid, ya know?”

She released a sigh and stood, walked over to where you were still moping, and held out a hand. You allowed her to help you out from under the table and to your feet.

“C’mon, we need to have a talk.”

You paused, eyeing her warily.

“After I just tortured you?”

She shrugged and gave you a look of defeat.

“To be fair, I was going to kill you, _and_ I sold Ivy out to Anthony." You narrowed your eyes but didn't do much else. "Plus I’m kind of in your debt now since you let me live.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Now,” Pamela opened the library door and motioned you through, “shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE for the love of GOD leave me a comment so i know people are actually enjoying this and im not making a huge fool of myself and i can have motivation to write thank u in advance


	28. Small Comforts and Hope for the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pam provides limited answers, Sweetpea attempts to reconcile with Cullen, and Bull gives a pep talk of the century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok wow i was definitely not expecting so much feedback last chapter but it inspired me so damn much and made me cry happy tears to be honest
> 
> this chapter is VERY fluffy and feel-good to prepare for the shitstorm that's headed their way
> 
> (also i just wanted to talk about how cool it's been to see myself grow as a writer from the beginning of this story to now??)

“I have a question, Pamela.”

“Oh, just Pam is fine.”

“Okay. Pam. What’s with this necklace?”

You pulled out the strange pendant from your back pocket and presented it to her.

She pursed her lips and sprawled out on the bed.

“If I have to guess, it’s something Anthony needs to get to your world.”

“How did you know Ivy gave it to me?”

“Anthony told me to get it, and the girl’s smart. She knew I had turned against her as soon as I showed up. So, I assumed she gave it to you to keep him from having it.”

“Hm.” You sat at the edge of the bed and looked around the room. It had an I’m-better-than-everyone-and-even-though-the-world-is-ending-everyone-needs-to-know-it vibe, and that was just from feeling the silkiness of the sheets and noticing the red brocade on the walls. Vivienne would have enjoyed it, at least. “But I’m guessing you didn’t bring me here to have questions thrown in your face.”

She sat up and shrugged.

“I figured you would have questions, and I’ll answer them to the best of my ability. But I wanted to talk about Anthony.” You gulped and immediately clasped your hands together to stop their shaking. “Listen, I know that you’re having a really hard time with what that fucker’s put you through, and I don’t blame you, but I just want you to know that he’s gonna use his power over you when you see him in a few days. He’s gonna throw your friends in your face, so if you’re on bad terms with anyone, you need to fix it. Now. If you want to get rid of him, everyone needs to be on the same page and work together.”

“I just—it’s hard…”

“Listen,” she hissed, determination furrowing her brow as she reached over to grab you by the hand, “as a woman who has been through what you’ve been through, who found a good man that loves me no matter what, I can honestly say that not all men are Anthony. Do you really want to miss out on an opportunity at love just because Cullen _might_ be bad for you?” She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “Look into your heart. Really look. That’s where you’ll find your answer. After all, the brain tends to lie to us.”

Then she left, shutting you inside with a cluster of questions and no way to get answers. You assumed that this was your room, as big and grand as it was. It reminded you of home, of Thedas, and for a moment everything that had happened came crashing down upon you like a meteor. You had tried everything you could to keep yourself from this very thing, from becoming attached in case you got to go back to New York, to what you thought was your home. Now that you were here, you wanted to be nowhere but your quarters at Skyhold with Xena tucked into your side and Varric reading you a book over the crackling of the fire. Your heart belonged to Thedas. To the people of Skyhold and beyond. To your friends and allies and advisors. To Cullen.

No. You couldn’t give up now. You had bested assassins and flattened villages and beaten dragons. Love was the last thing on your list to conquer, the most important, and he was sitting in a room near you in a borrowed flannel and curly hair and possibly wondering how he had let some Otherworlder drag him to the edge of the universe and back and still deny him her love.

Your feet had carried you back to the library before you could register where you were going. He was there, just like one of Pam’s men had said, picking up books and arranging each shelf based on size, then color, then alphabetical order, then size again. You watched him work for a while, briefly noticing his shaking hands and a garbage can sitting next to a chair. It took a while for you to gather the courage to stop his ritual, but before you could even speak, he was addressing you, back still turned.

“I do this to the bookshelves in my office when I need something to focus on but can’t bring myself to do paperwork.”

“You just… redo them in different orders?”

“It is calming. Something I’ve been doing since I was transferred to Kirkwall.”

“It helps you feel in control,” you guessed.

He turned at that moment, slight smile on his face, and your knees almost buckled at the sight of him. You blinked away tears when he reached out to you, and you went to him, melting into the embrace.

“I am so sorry, Cullen. I realized that,” you pulled away to gauge his expression, “Thedas is my home now. _You_ are my home now. If I lost you, I do not know what I would do with myself.”

“Your revelations always leave me speechless,” he confessed, laughing. Then his face fell and suddenly you noticed how pallid and sweaty he looked. “If I am being honest, withdrawal symptoms are getting the best of me at the moment since I haven’t taken my tonics.” He grimaced and looked around. “This damned prison isn’t helping, either.”

Prison…? Oh. The lack of windows and open air reminded him of the Circle! That was why he wanted you to leave the balcony door… oh, poor Cullen. Being trapped underground definitely wasn’t helping him.

You wiped away the sweat on his brow and pressed a hand to his cheek.

“I can get Pamela to show us how to get out of here,” you offered, rubbing a soothing hand over his chest.

“I—yes, I would like that,” he finally said, eyes squinting against the brightness overhead. “How is there light without candles?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle and looped your arm around his, walking with him to the last place he saw Pam.

“That is an explanation with words that have no meaning in Common, I am afraid.”

“Too bad.” He clicked his tongue. “Do you think Dagna could make something like this? It would be quite useful.”

You raised your brows.

“Cullen! That is an amazing idea. We could get books from this library about _electricity_ and how _circuits_ actually work, and other things I do not know about. Maybe _plumbing,_ too?”

You looked up at him giddily, and he simply shook his head at you, fighting back a smile.

“You are a force to be reckoned with.” Then he stumbled against you, and you braced yourself to hold his weight. “Apologies.” You released a deep breath and turned to walk in the opposite direction. “Where are we going?”

“My room. You need to get off your feet.”

When you glanced up at him, there was a faint blush on his cheeks that made him look boyish and admittedly adorable. You didn’t understand his reaction, seeing as he had been inside your quarters at Skyhold many times. Of course, he was on your turf now.

The two of you managed to make it inside of your room and to the bed, where he immediately removed the flannel and t-shirt he had been wearing and laid back on the pillows, skin sweatslick in the light. You rushed to the bathroom (a working bathroom with actual running water and soap!) and the kitchen to get supplies and when you came back, he had stripped down to everything but his underwear. Apparently Ivy had given him some boxer briefs to match the rest of his modern attire.

You shut the door and turned the lock, a bucket of cold water and cloth on one arm and a bottle of water in the other.

“I, um,” _oh man, don’t choke up now,_ “I got you some things to help the symptoms.”

He lifted his arm away from his eyes and blinked up at you standing next to him. Then he quickly sat up and grabbed at a blanket at the end of the bed.

“Maker’s breath, I apologize. I got feverish and…”

You sat down the bucket and rung out the folded-up cloth, placed it against his forehead and gave him a reassuring smile.

“It is okay. I understand. Hopefully this helps.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you onto the bed next to him. You re-wet the cloth and brushed the cold down onto his neck, then chest, over his shoulder and down an arm.

“I admit, (Name). This little plan of yours seems to be working.”

You gulped and chanced a look up at him, breath almost stopping when you saw how dark the golden of his eyes had become. Hand shaking, you ran curious fingers through blonde chest hair, wiry and thick under your touch. You rose up onto your knees, Cullen watching you with a subdued beguilement, as if you were the most interesting thing of both worlds.

Then you paused.

“Cullen, are you… okay?”

His brows furrowed in confusion before realizing what you were asking.

“Oh, yes, I feel fine aside from the fever.”

“I just… do not want to, um, overwork you.”

“A distraction is welcome.”

He chuckled, pressed a palm to the back of your neck and pulled you to him for a deep kiss. When his tongue licked into your mouth, you pounced on him, sending him flailing onto his back on the bed with a surprised grunt. You pulled away and trailed open-mouthed kisses down his neck, breathing in his scent and surrendering yourself to his touches and when you finally shed your shirt and flung your bra over your shoulder, you felt vulnerable. Being with him was… something otherworldly. Something that was going to be more than just a way to pass the time or get ration cards or keep beatings at bay. It was exciting and you were eager and he looked absolutely perfect lying beneath you.

“Maker, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, as if kneeling in reverence before Andraste herself, awestruck in idolatry, and when you almost started crying because you were _so so_ happy he pulled you to his chest and kissed your hair and soothed you. “We only go as far as you want.”

Maker’s fucking breath.

You loved him.

_Oh man. This is something... new._

Then your heart seemingly grew and spread this beautiful nostalgic longing warmth through your body, and then you knew. This was what love felt like.

“I love you.” It came out in a rush of air after you pulled away, and Cullen blinked. “This is not the best time, but in a few days when we face Anthony, anything could happen and—”

“Did you say you love me?” he whispered, awestruck, then the color came back to his face and he almost managed to blink back tears but couldn’t quite control them. They disappeared into his hairline.

“Yes. I did and I do.”

“You. Love me.” Then he laughed, a sound that could open the gates of heaven, and he reached up to cup your cheek and smile and then you got a glimpse of him, ten years younger, happier, full of promise and the belief that life was hopeful and wonderful and that good things could happen to people like him. “I never thought… I-I love you, too. Maker, I love you.”

You pressed a kiss to his palm and then, becoming suspicious, rested your wrist against his forehead, the searing heat making you flinch.

“As much as I want you right now, you need to rest. That can wait.”

“At a time like this, you’re checking my temperature?”

You both shared a laugh as you swung your leg over his hips and stood up, searching for your missing clothes and throwing them on.

“I brought a bucket of water for a reason.” The coldness of the cloth you placed against his forehead made him sigh in relief. “Also, water to drink. I would not want you to get… uh…”

He narrowed his eyes at you and pursed his lips, offering, “Dehydrated?”

“Yes,” you said with a sigh, perching next to him on the edge of the bed. “I will leave you to silence and darkness so you can rest.”

“Where are you going?”

You stood up and puffed out your chest.

“I am going to mingle.”

* * *

“Hey, if it isn’t the Boss!” Bull was the first to notice you, raising a beer in solidarity and to attract your attention. “Where’s Cullen? Haven’t seen him in a second.”

“Yeah, we figured he would be on your heels like a little mabari pup,” Sera jested, making little howling noises and vulgar gestures.

“He is ill.”

“‘ _ll,'_ the beautiful Inquisitor says, waltzing in here with a rash on her cheeks and hair in disarray.”

“Oh yeah, didn’t even notice that one, Prissypants.”

“You should write the books of Varric, Dorian,” you snapped, collapsing onto an empty couch seat and accepting a beer from Pam. Tomlin said a quiet hello in greeting and you smiled at him.

“Want a cig?” Pam asked, offering you one from her pack. “We might die in a few days. Better enjoy it while we can.”

You stared at it for a moment before accepting.

_Fuck it._

Bull stopped drinking long enough to watch as you lit it and took a drag, impressed at the flavor.

“Menthol.”

“Yeah, I have a guy that sneaks a carton to me every week.”

“Really? What do you do for him?”

“Protect him from everyone else,” Pam says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

For a moment, everything seemed okay. Your friends were laughing and making the best out of a shitty situation, you had found an unlikely companion in an enemy, and you were finally starting to tie up loose ends with Cullen (something that would take awhile for both of you, but held a very nice and promising beginning).

Bull leaned down next to you to mutter, “Boss, what’s going on with Cullen?”

“He is just sick.”

“Withdrawals, right?”

You nodded your head and wiped at the condensation on the outside of your beer bottle. It hadn’t been drunken out of.

“Not in the mood to party, either?” It took one resigned sigh for Bull to turn his complete attention to you. “What’s been going on with you? As a whole? We haven’t talked this whole trip.”

You weighed your words for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“I have had my entire belief system turned on its head within the past few days. Everything I thought I knew, thought was real, was not. It was the opposite.”

You glanced over to see him furrow-browed and completely focused on you. It felt nice.

“Like?”

“Cullen is _not_ like Anthony. New York is _not_ my home anymore. I am _not_ weak and submissive, or at least I do not have to be. I just... I have changed so much after being gone. And I am just now seeing it.”

“For better or worse?”

A question that took you two seconds to answer.

“Better. I am stronger. More confident. I see myself as a person worthy of things: friendship, love—”

You squeaked indignantly when Bull pulled you into a tight hug, and you quickly wrapped your arms around as much of him as you could reach and squeezed him back.

“Boss, I know this sounds weird considering you’re my, well, boss, but being able to see you grow into this badass who takes no shit has been fucking amazing.” Sera and Dorian were watching the two of you now, audibly agreeing with what Bull was saying. “I remember when you were terrified of everyone and you hid most of the time in your little shack back in Haven, then when you flattened that village like it was nothing I started to believe that you would do great things one day. And here we are.”

“And you have me crying, you big oaf,” Dorian added, wiping at his eyes delicately. “We are all so very proud of you, Inquisitor.”

“What lil’ Dory said,” slurred Sera.

You finally pulled away and Bull clapped you atop the shoulder, gazing down at you with pride and respect and _love_ and it was all you could do to keep from bursting into tears.

“No matter what happens a few days from now, when we face Anthony, I’ll have your back.”

Dorian and Sera agreed, and suddenly another voice sounded from the doorway.

“Me as well.” _Stupid Cullen, out of bed while running a temperature!_ He must have seen the irritated look on your face, because he was quick to raise his arms in surrender and say, “I feel much better, Inquisitor. Commander’s honor.”

Sera groaned then hiccuped from her place in a dining chair, which was leaned back on two legs and somehow balancing from her drunken skill alone.

“Cut the Inquisitor crap, Cully. She’s your woman. Own it. Maker knows I would!”

You scooted over and shyly patted the now-cramped seat next to you. He sat down, looking a lot more like himself.

Pam offered him a beer but he declined.

“So, Pam. How powerful is Anthony, exactly?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and the air morphed into something unsettling.

“Extremely. Who do you think brought that poison into Skyhold?”

Your head whipped around to look wide-eyed at Bull, who had a confused look on his face. When you translated what Pam had said, his expression turned grim.

“You don’t have to do that, Sweetpea. I speak Common.”

Oh, _that’s_ fucking awkward.

“So, anyway, I don’t know much, but—”

“Wait a sec. How do _you_ speak _our_ language?” Sera asked, obviously skeptical.

“Anthony taught me.”

“Why are you so shit at it then, Boss?” Bull teased you, laughing when you punched him in the side.

“I have been learning for years. And this is complicated, Sweetpea,” Pam said, sighing. “There are things that I can’t answer. Only Anthony can. He only lets me in the loop on a need-to-know basis.”

“Sounds like him,” you grumbled.

“If we can sneak into his base, I’m sure he has a desk full of info about what he’s up to,” Pam said, glancing between the six of you. Then she turned to address only you. “You up for a challenge?”

You snuffed out your cigarette and gave her a smug grin.

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE leave me a comment it's the only thing that keeps me going they make me so happy bc i know ppl are actually reading this story and enjoying it!!!


	29. Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time with friends is a good stress reliever before infiltrating your enemy's home base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow ok i'm so sorry for my absence but i took a huge burst of energy and decided to start revising the past chapters of this story. i've been adding and subtracting things and making the story more clear and stuff like that to catch up with my current writing style, because reading things i've written two years ago makes me wanna shrivel up and die if i'm being completely honest.
> 
> anyway, this chapter is long as hell to make up for the long wait <3

You glanced around the room, at Bull and Sera and a sea of empty beer bottles on the floor surrounding them. Dorian sat on the loveseat, piles of books on various topics sitting atop the coffee table. The space proved warm and inviting, aloft with laughter and light-hearted banter, and you hated to admit that it made you miss The Herald’s Rest.

“—have some explaining to do when I see Knight Captain Rylen.”

_Shit._

You looked over at Cullen, blinking away brain fog. “I am sorry, what? I was not listening.”

He snorted, flipped the page of the book he was reading. It was about the American Revolution, of course, because he was Cullen and never knew how to have fun and stop working.

“I _said_ ,” a soft jab to your side, “that our absence will be very difficult to explain. I’m assuming that you would not want the whole of Skyhold knowing of this place.”

“Maker, no,” you spat, cringing. Many would try to cross over because curiosity is a damnable thing, and the potential harm it may cause was worth lying to everyone, consequences be damned. “This must stay between the six of us.”

Cullen’s head snapped up from his book with a look of stunned realization.

“(Name). I had _completely_ forgotten we brought Tomlin along.”

When your eyes met, you couldn’t contain your laughter. His lapse in memory held no humor, yet you cackled until you were out of breath and there were tears in your eyes.

“Aye, I wanna know what’s so funny,” Sera piped up, voice slurred and slow. “Sharing is caring and all ‘at.”

“It wasn’t that funny, Sera,” Cullen replied mildly.

“Honest,” you added.

She waved a hand in dismissal and said, “Aw, pish. You two are no fun, with your boots and all.”

After a shared glance of confusion, Cullen turned back to his book and you took the opportunity to move across the room to talk to Dorian.

“Did you know that I haven’t been able to cast a single spell since we set foot here?” Frustration coated his words, and you leaned into him, offering a pat on the arm in condolence.

“What does it feel like?”

His face twisted up, as if he tasted something sour. “Empty. Like a part of me was just… taken.”

Sorrow seeped into your chest like a punctured paint can. In conversation, neither of you delved into the inner workings of magic or how it felt to possess it, something that your brain failed to comprehend. You imagined he felt like you did when Anthony stripped you bare and stole bits and pieces of you, of your humanity and heart and chest and freedom that still haven’t returned.

“I think I understand, in a sense,” you muttered, breathing a sigh when Dorian wound an arm around your shoulders.

“I know, (Name).” He sucked in a deep breath and turned to you, lips widening into a smile.

You blinked. “What?”

He leveled an uninspired look at you and whispered, “You really aren’t going to tell me about what you and our _dear commander_ have been up to?”

“Number one: it is not your business. Number two,” you gave him a wry grin, “it should not be discussed in public.”

Dorian dramatically fanned himself and said, “Maker, (Name). Don’t tease a man like that!”

He laughed at your retreating form, and you checked up on your other friends to make sure they weren’t feeling any adverse effects.

“To be honest, Boss,” Bull reached out to gently hold your hand, “I’ve been drunk this entire time.”

Sera punched you in the arm and laughed when you asked how she was doing, and Tomlin had just blushed and stuttered out a positive response.

It made you feel better, though, knowing that your friends were adjusting well.

Your last stop before going to bed was Pam, who sat at the bar with a drink in hand.

“Hey, (Name),” she said, kept her lead lowered to avoid your gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think it’s possible I can go with you guys?” A sigh. “This isn’t a life I want for my kids.” She looked up at you, eyes red and wet with tears. Her voice broke. “They deserve to be raised in a place where they have a chance of _living_. I can’t let the bad things I’ve done ruin their future.”

You sat down next to her and brushed dark hair over her shoulder. “Of course, Pam. Your family can stay at Skyhold and,” a realization, “yeah, you can work with my spymaster! It all comes together.”

The woman looked over at you and smiled, said, “Ya know, when my mom and I moved here from Taiwan, a friend let us stay at her apartment until my mom was able to get on her feet. When we got our own house and Mom became a nurse, she noticed that the more she gave to others, the more she received herself. After that, she always told me that the most important thing is charity, because it comes back to bless you when you feel all hope is lost.”

“That hasn’t happened to me so far,” you argued with a laugh. “And I like to think I’ve done some good things.”

“Sometimes blessings come in forms besides money, Sweetpea.”

You averted your gaze and studied on her words. Many people had come into your life that you felt blessed you just with their presence. Dorian, Varric, Cole, Cullen, Bull. Pam. Things like Skyhold, being the Inquisitor, finding love. Many blessings had been given to you, come to think of it.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

* * *

Being in the bunker made Cullen have night terrors. Of the times you slept with him on this trip, they had never been so bad that he would wake you up screaming or throttle his pillow or push you clean off the bed because he thought you were a demon coming to trick him by using your skin. You guessed it was because being here reminded him of the claustrophobia of the Circle, which reminded him of very bad things that manifested in his dreams.

The funny part about this was, being in the bunker meant that you felt _more_ safe here than you did anywhere else, and although they didn't stop, your nightmares didn't transform into bouts of sleep paralysis like they normally did.  
  
The night before you were supposed to sneak into Anthony's safe house, Cullen woke you, telling someone _no no stop it please get away from me!_ With a readying breath, you rolled over and began speaking to him. You knew by now that touching him was not a good idea.   
  
"Cullen, it is alright. You are safe."  
  
When he opened his eyes, they immediately widened and you were sent tumbling off the bed, landing on your bad shoulder with a cry. You rolled backward, barely missing Cullen who had jumped down to where you had just been.

“Cullen, stop!”

He hovered over you, pinned your arms over your head and you tried to kick him away but he held steadfast, unwavering. There was an untamed fear in his eyes, hatred for whoever he was seeing in you.

“Cullen, it is me. (Name). You know me!” You pressed at his chest with your knee as his grip wound tighter around your wrists, a sharp pain resonating within the bone. “Ow! Stop! Cullen, you are—” a weak kick to his stomach, ”hurting me!”

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. Breathing heavily, you blinked away tears that had clouded your vision and now disappeared into the line of your hair. When you felt his grip loosen, you kicked him away from you and crab-walked backwards until you were far out of his reach.

“Maker, what happened?” he asked, looking around the room. His eyes landed on a pillow that he had flung across the room prior to the incident, to the mess of sheets on the bed that were half bunched on the floor, to your cowering figure. “I—(Name), I’m so sorry. I _told_ you about the nightmares.”

“Just please stay away from me,” you sobbed, wrists already starting to bruise in the shape of his fingertips. Your shoulder ached.

Everyone had lied to you. He was just like Anthony, secretly hating you and wanting to hurt you and what if—

“(Name), I’m so sorry.” When he reached out to you, you knocked his hands away and pushed at his chest. “(Name), please. I’m sorry!”

“I do not care!” Another push. “How sorry you are!”

Then he grabbed you by the shoulders and lightly shook you to maybe convince you to snap out of whatever spell you were under. You looked up at him, blurry as he was, and saw the curls of his hair, the sharpness of his eyes, the scar bisecting his lip, and you stilled for a moment.

The man before you was Cullen. _Cullen!_ He had horryfing nightmares and a past he was seeking redemption for, a series of traumas that made him search for a place of refuge that he had found in _you_.

You had to be strong for him.

“You know I would never hurt you on purpose. You know that,” he whispered pleadingly, delicately cradled your face in large, warm hands.

Golden eyes shone bright with unshed tears, said _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_ over and over again.

All it took was a weak pull of your arm to fall into him, into the rough material of the same shirts he had worn since he had been under Templar training. You guessed that, because Cullen was such a creature of habit and routine, wearing anything else for him would feel utterly wrong.

You buried your face into his chest and pressed a hand to the top of your aching shoulder.

A few minutes passed before he got the courage to speak.

“I tend to forget that, to a future partner, I still possess many undesirable qualities.” He chuckled briefly, a somber ring that spoke of once-good everydays, then pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You sucked in a breath to quiet your heart, to remind yourself that he didn’t mean to hurt you and you were okay and you couldn’t live with yourself if you backed out on him, as if you even wanted to.

“They are not undesirable qualities. If you cannot find someone that loves you _and_ your past, you do not need them in your life.”

You felt him smile into your hair before he pulled away and beamed down at you.

“Spoken like a true Inquisitor. You should try a hand at inspirational speeches instead of making me do them.”

You scoffed at him and rose to your feet, said, “The first and last time I gave a speech, I was laughed at by _your_ soldiers _._ I vomited in a bush after everyone left.” Ah, yes. The wreck of a speech you gave the day you were crowned Inquisitor. You moved to throw the rogue pillow back onto the bed and reposition the bed sheet before beckoning Cullen forward. “Come on. Let us walk.”

In your room, you had found these beautifully silky nightgowns inside a dresser drawer. It was assumed that someone rich with expensive taste had been staying there and when they decided to leave, couldn’t bother with packing everything up. The problem was that they weren’t fit for the chilly night air of New York. You decided, however, that you were fine with being cold as long as Cullen got to see the sky again to quell his anxieties.

“To where?” he asked, obediently following you like a lost puppy around the replica-looking hallways of the bunker.

“It is a surprise,” you whispered conspiratorially, pulling him close enough to both hear you and get a quick kiss on the cheek.

As soon as you reached above ground, you tugged Cullen along to the rooftop of the building the entrance was in. The air was always cold in New York, and tonight was no exception. Hands laid upon your shoulders and soothed over the skin of your arms, and you sighed at the warmth that seeped into you through his palms.

“Maker's breath, look,” Cullen muttered, looking upward, and you craned your head to see.

The moon and the stars and… a small, green gash that stretched across the sky. The infant Breach your parents had showed you. You could only gape at the sight, a small bit of fear twisting your gut. They were right.

The Mark sparked to life, branches of glowing energy alit up your arm, and a thought crossed your mind.

“Cullen,” you began, lifted your arm to compare your palm to the sky. “They look the same size. Back home, the Breach is… much longer.”

He looked over at you with a furrowed brow then surveyed the two, reaching the same conclusion. Then he took your hand in his and held it out in front of you. Fingertips traced the branch-like marks etched into your skin.

“Have these gotten any worse?”

“No. They only grow when I close rifts,” you assured him with a shake of your head.

The furrow in his brow deepened when he muttered, “An interesting bit of information.”

Silence washed over the two of you before you sucked in a breath. “Well, I am freezing out here, so we should go inside.”

He followed you back into the bunker and into the kitchen where you searched for something to snack on after forgetting to eat all day. A fruit cup would have to do.

“You know what I miss?” you said to the man sitting across the table from you.

“What?”

You chuckled for a moment. “Those Orlesian treats that Solas always has brought to his room.” A sigh. “I just… miss Skyhold in general, and I am starting to feel guilty for not telling anyone we left.”

Cullen clicked his tongue. “From a strategy standpoint, you made a good move. You can’t be stopped if nobody knows that you’re going.”

“Leliana did.” He furrowed his brow in confusion, and you looked at him, perplexed. “I thought… she was the one who told you.”

“No. Bull told me.”

Oh, he played you like a fiddle and you fell right into his trap. He knew you wouldn’t suspect him. Of course, he had good intentions by trying to get you and Cullen in the same vicinity, but still… It rubbed you the wrong way.

“Huh,” was all you said. “I feel stupid now.”

He rested his hand atop yours and grinned. “I don’t know, this hasn’t been too bad of an experience.”

“Oh, but we have not even gotten started, dear Cullen.”

* * *

The next morning, you both brushed your teeth in silence, unspoken words deafening inside the bathroom. You stepped back to look at yourself, frowned at the dirtiness of your hair, and got an idea. 

"Cullen," you began, refusing to continue until he acknowledged you with a hum, "do you want to, uh," shit you hadn’t learned the word for the verb _shower_ , "wash off with me?"   
  
The hand combing through his hair stopped moving, and he met your gaze in the mirror, sheer surprise written all over his face.  
  
"Are you sure?"   
  
You nodded, moved over to the shower and turned it on with a flourish.   
  
"It saves water," you said. "Only if you want to."   
  
"Maker's _breath_ , of course I—" he cleared his throat and you forced down a laugh at his eagerness, "I mean, yes, I would like that."   
  
You gathered two towels and placed them on a hanger on the wall. Cullen simply stood there, seemingly unsure of what to do.   
  
"Um, (Name), how does this work?"   
  
"It is like a waterfall, only better and more warm." Then you realized you had to get _naked_ in front of him, and you almost lost your nerve. "Turn around, please."   
  
"Oh! Of course."   
  
After he did what you requested, you shed your nightgown and underwear and stepped into the shower, adjusting the water to the right temperature. You called out to him that you were done and jumped when fingertips brushed against your back a moment later. When he laughed, you turned to face him, looking falsely offended, and smacked him jokingly on the arm.   
  
"How did you undress so fast?"   
  
"Practice," was all he said, and you couldn't help but blush at the underlying meaning of that one word. A look of sincerity replaced the smug grin, and he beamed down at you.  
  
"I hope you know that at the moment, I would trade both worlds for you in a heartbeat."   
  
A warmth bloomed across your cheeks and you giggled.   
  
"Okay, _I_ am going to wash off. But keep flattering me if you wish."   
  
That shower was the most sensual thing you had ever experienced. All reservations you once held about being naked and vulnerable were washed away with soap suds and large, warm hands.   
  
When he turned to you, clean and sighing in content, you couldn't help the smile that blossomed on your lips, and pulled him down for a kiss that sent you reeling. He hungrily parted your lips and you moaned into his mouth when he cupped your breast in hand and caressed a nipple with his thumb. You let your head fall back as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down your neck and lightly suckled at your skin to coax out a low moan of his name.   
  
There were roaming hands and warm water and so much heat and when he pulled back to look down at you, lips red and swollen and hair a mess of darker curls at the nape of his neck, a slip of _I love you_ came from your mouth again.   
  
He smiled beautifully, said "I love you, too," and pulled you to him.   
  
His erection pressed hard and hot into your stomach, made you shiver because _had you ever wanted to please someone this badly before?_ He grabbed your upper arms and backed you up against the tile of the shower, and both of you simply looked at each other, a mutual appreciation hanging comfortably in the air.   
  
"You're beautiful," you both said, him in Common and you in English, with a breath of awe.   
  
When he lowered himself onto his knees before you, almost in reverence, you thought you would faint at the sight. Water still fell and cascaded down the freckled skin of his shoulders and back, and when he asked if it was okay for him to please you like this, you could hardly breathe.   
_  
Yes yes please you had never wanted anything more… but he has to want this, too._

"Only if you want," you managed to say through shallow breaths. “I do not want to push you.”

He leaned back, looked at you with such a serious expression that you furrowed your brow. "But do _you_ want me to? Because I want to."  
  
_Okay, good. See? He wants to!_  
  
"Maker's breath, yes," you said with a sigh, one of your hands immediately fisting his still-wet hair as he started to lean in.

Then he stopped and regarded you with a teasing grin. “Did you just say _Maker’s breath_?”

Your eyes widened at the realization and you said, “I did. I guess you, um, changed me more than I thought.”

He hooked your knee over his shoulder with a teasing grin, opening you up to him, and when the tongue trailing up your thigh finally licked _at_ you then _into_ you there was no stopping your mewls.   
  
When you glanced down at him, you found that he was already looking up at you, golden eyes lidded and hungry as he feasted on you like you were his favorite meal. The intimacy of such a simple thing like eye contact proved overwhelming, the best kind of overwhelming where you felt completely surrounded by affection and safety, and you had never been with someone who held a sole interest in your pleasure.

After being too busy to find time to yourself for the past six months, it took only a few minutes for Cullen’s skilled mouth to bring you to your release. It hit you hard, kept coming in pleasurable waves that took your voice and almost doubled you over, and the euphoria stayed for what felt like forever before eventually fading into a sated calmness.  

He stood up after allowing you to find your legs again, a proud grin on his face.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Nobody has ever...” _well, we won’t mention the friend thing with Bull._ “No lover has ever made me… do that,” you corrected yourself.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?” he jested, leaning down to press a hungry kiss to your lips and you released a groan at the taste of yourself on his tongue. “Maker, you’ll be the death of me.”

“Good. Also, the water is cold,” you observed, skin prickled with goosebumps, and the moment was over.

You stepped out and dried each other off, basking in the afterglow of orgasm and cleanliness, both small miracles to happen for the first time in a long while.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

You turned to look at him, the man already dressed and hair a nest of golden curls, and smiled. “Better than alright, Cullen.”

This was something unnatural. With him, you didn’t feel the need to cower away or hide out for a few days until he lost interest. What happened wasn’t an apology or a transaction, but an unspoken connection and, in some weird way, a sharing of souls.

You felt as if you had just been worshipped.

* * *

At dusk, you gathered with Pam to talk over the plan and venture out of the safety of the bunker.

“It’ll be a simple operation. I sneak you in through the air vents, distract Anthony while you find whatever he’s been hiding, then bounce.”

“And do that without him noticing?” you asked.

“I’ve been his eyes and ears for the past year, (Name). I know my way around his hideout.”

“What about you?”

“Just leave it to me.”

The smirk she gave you reminded you of Leliana.

You took a deep breath to steel yourself as you followed her to exit the bunker. There stood an elevator that brought you above ground inside a locked and guarded room in the subway.

“You ready?” she questioned, glancing at your shaking hands.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied, curling your fingers into fists so tight that bitten fingernails dug into your palms. “Will everyone be okay while we’re gone?”

“I stationed my own men to watch over them. They’ll be fine.”

A group of guards standing at the entrance nodded to you as you passed through, wishing you luck on your mission. It surprised you.

You rushed to catch up with Pam’s quick strides and entered the elevator. A jovial tune, chosen for its calm nature, played over a speaker in the upper corner, causing uneasiness to wedge between your ribs from the prospect of infiltrating your enemy’s fortress. The two things were such a juxtaposition that it came across as creepy more than anything.

The woman next to you gripped onto your shoulder and looked at you with a worry in her eyes, colored grey like the iron of your Inquisition sword. “(Name), you’re pale as a fucking ghost. Don’t pass out on me.”

You managed a weak laugh despite wanting to vomit out your heart and lungs. “I’m fine. Just nervous.”

She leveled a _bullshit, now tell me the truth_ look at you, and a string of worries spewed forth.

“Pam, I haven’t seen him in over a year. What’ll do when it happens. Will I go back to him like he’s trained me to do? Bash his head open? Forgive him? Cry and run? I don’t know and that’s what scares me.”

Only when she turned you toward her and held your face in her hands were you able to take a breath.

“It’ll be fine. Just focus on getting home. That’s why we’re doing this. To find some answers. If we run into him, you think about whoever or whatever is keeping you attached to that world. What you feel is most important.”

The elevator doors opened with a _ding_ , a silence falling over the two of you as you stepped out and into the office of a dingy, dust covered clothing store.

“It isn’t far from here.”

“So he moved?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why, but he had to move closer to _something._ ”

“Huh. That’s weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

After a long walk, Pam told you that you made it to Anthony's base, and you gaped at what she pointed to up ahead.

A hospital. He holed himself up in a _hospital._

You hid around the corner of a building near the basement where two men were standing, decked out in military gear. A weak light sat over the door, a stark contrast to the darkness of everything else.

“How are we going to get past them?” you muttered, turned to look up at Pam’s form.

“Do you still have your knife?”

“Um,” you checked the waistband of your pants, “yes.”

“Alright. Follow my lead.”

The men were in a heated conversation as you crept up to them, spewing hushed insults at each other. When Pam motioned for you to advance, you pounced onto the nearest man’s back, driving the blade into his shoulder then neck before he turned around. He gurgled and fell to his knees, blood seeping from his wounds. You wiped your hands on your pants, then a hand wrapped around your upper arm and pulled you toward the door.

Illumination inside the stairwell strained your eyes, and you allowed Pam to lead you into the low-lit basement.

“Listen. There’s a break room just up ahead with an open vent. Head there.”

You blinked, attempting to process the information. “Okay, but what are you going to do?”

“Try to shut off these generators.”

The distraction.

You went your separate ways with a wish of good luck and found yourself surprised at a sole guard patrolling. _If only I had my invisibility bomb thing._

The tiles underfoot were cracked and raised in some areas which made crouching difficult, as you kept tripping over the tip of your shoes and falling to your knees. What was important was finding this break room Pam talked about.

“Hey! What are you doing in here?”

_Goddamn it._

You turned and stood as a familiar looking, fuming man approached. He wasn’t as armed as the other guards, sporting only a bulletproof vest and a pistol.

Large hands pushed you roughly against the wall then fisted your shirt and lifted you until you were on your tiptoes.

“I won’t ask again. What are you doing here?”

“Listen, I’m sorry. Anthony sent me here to get something for him!”

The man narrowed his eyes and raked them up and down your form. “You’re the runner? A little early, don’t ya think?”

He didn’t give you time to answer before he released you and led you through the maze of hallways, wallpaper the same grungy yellow color throughout the basement and every door replicated. The walls closed in on you, dim lighting adding to how dangerous and dilapidated this place felt.

He stopped in front of a set of metal doors and opened one before ushering you inside. The air was crisp, made gooseflesh cover your arms and legs, but more important things needed your attention.

An eluvian. Not yet activated, thank the Maker.

“This is for Anthony, (Name).” You spun around at the mention of your name to find the man standing outside. “I can’t let you stand in the way of business.”

Before your feet carried you to the door, he slammed it shut, and your chest tightened when the loud clang of a lock sliding into place rang heavy in your ears.

Your hands were red and numb by the time you gave up on banging on the door. The temperature inside the freezer fell low enough that your teeth chattered.

_Fuck! This isn’t good at all. I have to get back to Pam!_

You ran your fingers along the metal wall to find a secret door or compartment that either released you or took you to another room, but inside you found only storage closets with racks of blood bags. The air was even colder in there and you almost turned to leave before spotting it, sitting on the wall behind a pile of boxes.

A keypad.

With a few sweeps of numbing arms, you cleared away the path to a possible exit. The screen flickered a sickly green, a set of numbers taunting you.

_What’s the fucking code?_

Deep breaths, a cloud expelled from your mouth on every exhale.

_You’re freezing to death, (Name). Think._

A series of years scrolled past inside your head. Anthony’s birthday. Your birthday. When you met. When you died. You tried each and hoped there wasn’t a guessing limit.

You breathed a sigh of relief when the keypad beeped on 2027—eight years ago, when you first ran into each other. If you could have gone back and changed it… well, you wouldn’t. Without Anthony, you wouldn’t have befriended so many amazing people, become a leader, grown into something much stronger than what you assumed you were. You always wondered what your life could have turned into had you not met him. Would you be a coward, evil, better? You never dwelled too long on the topic.

Stepping over the metal threshold, you found yourself inside a strange room. It was the hospital, but its decorations reminded you of the healer’s quarters at Skyhold. Mortar and pestle, potion bottles, a bunch of weird ingredients that Vivienne would have loved.

Did Anthony have a mage? No, that made little sense considering magic wasn’t used in this world. Of course, anyone created potions and tonics. 

In the center of the room sat a strange orb, red as a ruby and appearing as if phasing between two universes.

You didn’t expect the sound of Corypheus’s voice to ring out, the orb shining bright as he spoke.

“Anthony, I’ve procured enough magic to open the eluvian. I just need your cooperation and that little _pest_ you’re so fond of. We will usher in a new era, my friend. That wolf won’t know what he unleashed.”

The brightness dulled and left you in stunned shock. Anthony was working with—

Darkness cloaked the hospital. Shouts rang out and the freezer door burst open and in a flash you were being led somewhere, a small beam of light the only thing guiding you.

“So, did you find anything?” Pam asked, breathing heavily.

“You’re not going to fucking believe this. Anthony—”

A hand fisted in your shirt and yanked you backward into a brick-wall chest, knocking the breath from your lungs. Pam’s flashlight dropped alongside a cry, and the man holding you dragged you away from her.

“Let Pam go, Amos! We got what the boss wanted.”

You heard whispers, couldn’t make out any words but Pam’s tearful _I’m so sorry, (Name)._ She left you there, _had_ to leave you there when Amos escorted her out of the building. You called after her like a child would their mother, kicked at the man holding you captive. A well-placed headbutt busted his nose, and he cried out but didn’t falter or lessen his grip.

The lights flickered back on, blinding you for a moment, and he took the opportunity to spin you around and backhand you across the cheek. You feel to your knees, the sharp sting bringing a wave of memories—bad _bad_ memories—to the front of your mind, but you blinked away tears and swallowed rising sob-hiccups and rose to your feet.

“Huh,” the man said, looking upon you with a face of inquiry, “Anthony let on like you were his little pet. Didn’t think you knew how to fight back.”

“Put your fucking hands on me again and I’ll show you just how wrong he was,” you growled, fists clenched and at the ready.

Orson’s training was about to come in handy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for the next chapter because i've already written a few scenes and oh boy it's sad but things will hopefully start to make sense.
> 
> let me know what you think because i thrive off of comments and positive reinforcement so please tell me that ur actually still reading this story PLEASE


	30. Otherworldly Extras: Pam's Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into what our favorite badass is up to after she's forced from the hospital, left with no choice but to leave Sweetpea behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little change of pace to mix things up. This was a really fun chapter, and definitely different than what I'm used to, but it was a breath of fresh air. I might do these more often, actually.

She’s breathless, drained of hope when she makes it back to the bunker. Ignores worried questions of why her head is bleeding and where Sweetpea is. 

Pam can’t face them. Not after this. But they find her anyway, freshly showered and bandaged up and standing in the kitchen with a mug of warm tea to combat her anxious shivering. 

Sweetpea’s lover, she guesses, addresses her first, the rest of her companions straying to different places inside the room. 

“What happened?” he asks, eyes somber and slightly damp, as if he’s already been mourning over the answer. Already expected it to happen this way. 

“They...” Pam clears her throat, damning the strain and wavering in her voice, “they found us. I couldn’t get to her in time before they dragged me away.”

He releases a breath, posture slumping, before finding his resolve. Shoulders roll back, a shaking hand cards through curly hair, and she can finally see the pallidness of his skin. 

“We’ll get her back,” is all he tells her before sidestepping and filling a nearby clean glass with sink water. 

There’s a moment of silence as he drinks, wipes the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his flannel, and turns to leave. 

“Is it the lyrium?” He pauses mid-step at her question, yet doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t leave, either. “A close friend of mine was sent to your world. Came back suffering through withdrawals because Anthony wouldn’t let him have the stuff.”

A pause, clouds of mistrust loom overhead. 

“What happened to him?”

She gulps. “He died. Killed himself in the middle of the night.” 

“My condolences,” he mutters before fleeing and leaving her to face the others. 

Misunderstandings, due to cultural differences and the fact that Pam had almost tried to kill their leader, linger heavy in the air. A strong distrust radiates from them, and although she has killed men three times her size and reigns aside the leader of New York’s crime syndicate, they actually _intimidate_ her. Maybe because she doesn’t fully understand them as people, doesn’t understand much of where they come from. Maybe she tends to confuse intimidation and begrudging respect. 

She admits how jealous she’s become after seeing how much they care for Sweetpea. She has a husband and two children, yes, but nothing can replace the trust of close friendship. Something she hasn’t had for a long time.

“Soooo,” the qunari drawls, sidling up next to her, “what’s your story?”

“Just get to the point,” she hisses as a fresh wave of pain overtakes her temples. He obviously wants information or he wouldn’t be standing with her.

He clicks his tongue awkwardly, says, “Okay then. Um, you said earlier that one of your friends crossed over to our world, which makes no fucking sense considering the Boss is the only thing keeping the veil from ripping open. Could you imagine that? Two different dimensions meeting?” He whistles lowly, turning to survey Pam’s reaction. 

She narrows her eyes, looks him up and down. There’s something... threatening about him that she’s not particularly fond of. He seems to be testing her, to see where her loyalty lies. “Alright, I’m gonna cut the bullshit here. I know you got Anthony’s journal.”

Pam blinks, almost drops the mug in hand. _How the fuck?_ _  
_

“Wow. You’re good.”

“Did you read any of it?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, go get it.”

Something in the tone of his voice makes her move despite wanting to punch him in the face for ordering her around.

Five minutes later, she’s seated between Iron Bull and Cullen, the journal unopened in her lap. She flips it open, skims through the pages until one entry catches her eye. She reads it aloud.

_January 1, 2034_

_I've been talking with the wolf for quite some time now, and today he came to speak to me in person. The same elven man I saw all those months ago. He gave me a proposition: work alongside him and control much more than New York (a whole world, to be exact), or he kills me. I saw Zeke drop dead with a simple look. How could I say no? I have a feeling that I’ve made a big mistake, though._

“What the fuck?” is the unanimous reaction.

“So he was working with an elven god of sorts? Then he turned against him and teamed up with this Cory person?” Dorian hypothesizes. “Is there anything else?”

Pam skims through the pages and lets out a frustrated groan. She closes the journal and tosses it onto the coffee table with a heavy sigh. She risked Sweetpea’s life just for some stupid fucking journal that didn’t even tell them anything.

“Nothing. But we need to figure out how Anthony’s men are crossing over. That’s our—uh, _your_ ticket out of here.”

“Aw, you should come with us! We need someone who can knock a few heads together, yeah?” Sera pipes up from her upside-down place on the loveseat.

Pam glances around the room, feels the weight of their skepticism on her shoulders. She would love to escape, leave this life behind with her family, give her children the life they deserve. But until Anthony is gone, there will be no peace.

* * *

It surprises her when Ivy shows up in the middle of the night with a simple message: Anthony invited all of them over for dinner the next day. The girl is fine, doesn’t have a scratch on her, and that sends Pam’s head spinning. _What is that man up to?_

They all meet at their usual spot to discuss the plan. Everyone conveys their frustrations about the man, their misgivings about the situation, and Ivy continues to tell Pam that Anthony did nothing to hurt her.

“I’m impressed with you, though,” Ivy says, arms folded, giving Pam a once-over. “Ratting friends out is _ruthless,_ even for you.”

She shrugs. “I did what I had to at the time. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not apologizing either.”

The brunette sitting next to her laughs. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from Pamela Wei.”

“I’m a _Rose_ now, thank you very much.”

Ivy surveys her for a moment before she says, “Ya know, from your I-am-woman-hear-me-roar attitude, it surprises me that you would even take your husband’s last name.”

She’s trying to get her to crack and lash out, to have a reason to break a few bones in Pam’s face. It’s what she deserves, if she’s being honest with herself. Selling out a friend to get to Sweetpea so she could get back into Anthony’s good graces.

Never again.

* * *

“I hope you don’t plan on blindsiding our dear Inquisitor again,” Dorian says, swirls around the alcohol inside his glass. “We’ve grown quite… attached to her.”

“If this means what I think it means, you’ll kill me—”

“If we so much as _suspect_ that you’re plotting something. And Iron Bull will know.”

She sucks in a deep breath and rolls her lips into her mouth, knowing when to reluctantly roll onto her back like a submissive dog.

“You guys really do care about her, huh?” Pam asks, reaching over to fill Dorian’s glass a third time, then her own.

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I consider her a very good friend. She’s let me lean on her when nobody else would.”

“From what Anthony’s told me, that sounds like her.”

Dorian makes a noise and quickly swallows his drink. “Yes, I was about to ask why he’s so fascinated with her. And he must’ve confided in you quite a bit.”

“Anthony has this… _weird_ infatuation with that woman.” She releases a solemn sigh. “Goddamn it. I can’t believe I let him take her.”

“I can’t believe you did either.”

Pam glares at him over the rim of her glass, and he challenges her stare. “Anyway. Since you were wondering, Anthony rescued (Name) off the streets when she was sixteen, after her parents were murdered. She’s been loyal to him ever since.”

“He’s two apples shy of a fruit basket and she still _likes_ him?” Sera asks, drunkenly standing up from behind the couch. “Touched in the head, she is.”

“Maybe she did what she had to do to survive.” Cullen’s addition is melancholic, insightful, and all is silent for a moment.

Pam sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “Okay, let’s not talk like this while Sweetpea isn’t here, alright?” A unanimous murmur of agreement. “We should all get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual chapter should be out in a few days, so stay tuned!!


	31. Eluvian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweetpea finally gets to see the Eluvian in action.

Three seconds. That’s how long it took for him to elbow you so hard in the face that you sprawled to the ground. A weight of a hand pressed against your lower back, against your cheek, forcing you to the cold tile.

“Little spitfire, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you!” you spat, swung your arm behind you to connect with something warm and solid.

He sat on your hips, and only then did you start to panic.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” He rested more of his weight upon the palm across your cheek and you winced at the overwhelming pressure. “What did you find in that room?”

Swallowing the need to scream, you bit out a nice retort of, “You think I’m going to tell _you,_ you greasy fuck?”

He laughed at that one, let out an appraising whistle. “Man, Anthony’s in for a ride.”

* * *

Anthony sat across from you, swirling a glass of bourbon in hand. He had aged in your absence, frown lines evident and hair now mostly grey with only a little auburn left.

“I assume you’re comfortable,” he said, voice instinctively bringing chills to the skin of your arms.

You tugged at the leather bindings around your wrists and ankles attaching you to a cold metal chair that one of his men had brought for you to sit in. “The opposite, actually.”

He simply hummed, sat his glass aside and scooted his own chair toward you until your knees touched.

You thought you would be more... affected by him. His presence. It used to hang over you like a plume of thick smoke, suffocating anything that crossed its path. Now, after facing dragons and demons and immortal magisters, he seemed so small and insignificant in comparison. Not even worth your time anymore. You still loathed him, of course. If you could, you would set his body on fire and watch the meat melt from his bones. But when you looked into those green eyes of his, you saw nothing, emptiness, felt only _hatred_ . Fear held no standing over you anymore.

“I missed you, (Name),” he said, moved to caress the tip of a forefinger over your cheekbone, and you wanted to vomit.

He had no right to touch you. You were not his anymore. The shackles he once used to hold you broke the moment you stepped foot into Thedas.

You jerked away from him only to be pulled back by a painful grip that forced your cheeks against your teeth and pursed your lips.

“I suggest you cooperate. I’m not in the mood for these antics you’ve been displaying.”

Anthony looked upon you as if disapproving of a misbehaving child, staring down the bridge of his nose, then released you. He nodded to someone behind you and they came forth, passing him a hunting knife. You gulped. Then he released the bonds of one arm and cut a line up the sleeve of your jacket, given to you by Pam.

A low whistle, and you winced when his fingers roved over your skin, traced the scars climbing up your arm like tree branches.

His face fell. “Oh, Sweetpea. What have I done to you?”

You furrowed your brow in confusion and asked, “What _did_ you do?”

The rate at which his moods shifted always gave you whiplash. One minute, he was calculating and ruthless, and the next he was soft and caring. But you knew that, underneath the false tenderness, a monster hibernated, and it was always a matter of time until it woke from its slumber.

He looked up at you, eyes the color of vast forests, and brought your palm up to his lips. You forced yourself to keep a straight face, even though you wanted to scream and yank your hand away and stab the knife into his throat.

“To show that I’m making a conscious effort to do better, I invited your friends to dinner tomorrow,” Anthony said, unbuckling the leather straps keeping you in place.

“Are you letting me leave?” you asked, rubbing at the chafe on your wrists.

Then he laughed, wrapped a hand around your bicep and led you into the hallway. “Not yet. I have something to show you.”

You trekked back down into the dingy basement where the man who threw Pam out stood, shooting you a malicious glare.

“I would hold your tongue if I were you, Amos,” Anthony warned to the man, who simply scoffed.

He pulled you back into the freezer where the Eluvian sat, a light hum emanating from it. You hadn’t noticed that before.

“How did you get this?” you asked, brushing your fingertips along the frame.

“An…. old friend gave it to me.”

“Old friend?”

“It’s a long story.” He shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “Anyway, I want to try something.”

You watched him disappear into the storage room for a few minutes before he came back, holding a box in his hands.

“This is my most prized possession. And, well,” he sighed, “Jesus, the cat’s already out of the bag. It’s an artifact that Corypheus gave to me to do some… otherworldly testing on.”

_You knew he was working with that monster._

“And you’re using me, I’m guessing.”

He grinned at you. “You’re as otherworldly as it gets, so yes. I have magic researchers from Thedas that have been trying to decipher how, exactly, it works. But I needed you here to do some real testing with it."  
  
Then he opened the box and inside sat an orb, and suddenly a wave of memories came flooding back.  
  
_"(Name), whatever you do, don't touch this, okay?"_  
  
_The box sat upon his desk, a circular object inside with a slight glow in the cracks of the... rock? It had been unwrapped from the cloth it was in by Anthony, and you were surprised when he let you see it up close._  
  
_"Yessir. But why did you show me this?"_  
  
_He pressed a kiss to your cheek, the smell of bourbon on his breath almost making you gag. Always so touchy when he had been drinking. "Because you're the only one I trust to keep it safe and away from people that want to do something awful with it. Can you do that?"_

 _You sheepishly nodded under his overbearing glare and he left, leaving you alone in his office._ _  
_

_After sitting in the chair and taking a moment of relieved silence without someone breathing down your neck, you pulled the box into your lap and traced the edge of the wood._ _The object seemed to call to you, as if it had its own gravitational pull. You had no choice but to lay your palm atop it to grab it, electricity immediately surging through your body as if it were trying to fry you from the inside out._ _  
_

_You woke to the sound of Anthony yelling something incoherent, but you quickly fell back to sleep._ _  
_

_When you came to, you were standing in the woods, Ella and a few men approaching you._ _  
_

_"Anthony told you not to take this personally, but he can't have you getting in the way."_ _  
_

_She backed you up until you fell backwards into the lake, and then you were falling, being pulled under by some unseen force, drowning under the weight of the water—_ _  
_

_You woke again amidst the ruins of a temple, to the sound of people screaming indecipherably at you and a large green mass above your head. Strangely dressed men approached, covered head to toe in medieval armor. But you didn’t stick around long enough to find out what they wanted. You made it to a nearby lake, frozen over and covered in snow, before finally collapsing._

“(Name)!”

You blinked away the memory, feeling both relief and horror at finally finding out what happened to you. How you ended up in Thedas.

You had been the catalyst for all of this.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, whirled around to face him. “You hired Ella to kill me! Did you know she followed me and tried to kill me again?”

A look of surprise washed over his face. “What?! How did she open—“ Anthony paused, as if suddenly realizing you were there. “No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re _sorry_?”

A wave of something awful washed over you, pain slicing up your arm. He held up his hands in surrender, slowly saying your name, but you advanced on him anyway.

“Listen, you don’t want to hurt me,” he reasoned, backing toward the Eluvian.

“And why’s that?”

The Mark bathed the room in a sickly green glow and reflected off of the glass.

“Because I know how all of this started. I was there. Played a part in it.”

“Liar!”

A wave of energy surged toward Anthony and knocked him back… through the Eluvian. Colors swirled in the glass like a finger drawing inside a can of mixed paint, and you heard the man cursing you on the other side.

_Holy shit. What did I just do?_

You tentatively stuck your hand through, hissed at the split-second numbness you felt passing through your body as you stepped over the threshold. A wave of dizziness immediately overcame you, made you trip and fall as the dim and grey and foggy world spun and stretched around you.

“Goddamn, you actually did it!” Anthony called to you, voice far away and distorted. “It must’ve been… yes, the Mark exerted enough power to actually open it!”

After a few moments, your head finally cleared and you were able to stand.

“(Name), this way!”

You followed the sound of Anthony’s voice, staggering along the way, and found him standing in front of another Eluvian, beckoning you with a motion of his fingers.

“Another one?”

“Yes. Open it.”

“I—”

“Open. It.”

Begrudgingly, tiredly, you did as you were told, crying out as sharp as a knife pain stabbed through your palm. He pulled you through, arriving inside a room that looked suspiciously like.... No, this wasn't here before.

“Are we at Skyhold?” you asked, rushing forward, but he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you up against him before you could reach the door.

“Not so fast. I just wanted to see if you could actually get it to work.”

“So, how did you get it to open before?”

He rolled his eyes. “Magical advisors. That’s what the room with the big red orb is for.”

You wanted to cry. The door was so close, _freedom_ was so close, but you were held back by Anthony yet again. Poetically tragic. Only this time you didn’t have to die to escape from him.

“We need to get back. Tomorrow’s a big day, after all.”

He dragged you back through both Eluvians, back into the freezer, and called for someone named Ellana on a walkie-talkie. To your extreme surprise, an elderly elven woman burst into the room a minute later, holding a thick, aged book in her hands. She perused the open page, whispered something under her breath, and with a wave of her hand, the rainbow of swirling colors turned back into aged glass.

He shooed her away then spun to face you. “Well, that was exciting.” Brushed a hand over your shoulder, down your throbbing arm, before holding your hand. “I missed having you around.”

You gulped, blinking back tears that made rage swirl in your chest. After all, you hated him! So… why did you miss him, too? It made you feel disgusting and resentful and you wanted nothing more than for the world to swallow you whole. His touch burned your skin like acid, but you held your tongue and your breath until he pulled away. You were too smart, and you knew what he was capable of.

“Your arm doesn’t look so good,” he said, lifting it up by your wrist. “Let’s get you patched up.”

* * *

The time came for your friends to visit for dinner. You fidgeted in your seat at the head of the table, next to Anthony. He had renovated the hospital waiting room into a dining/living room. The furniture was scratched up and worn, given how old everything was, but it proved practical and effective.

“Where did you get all the food?” you asked, staring down the line of the table at the various plates and dishes.

“I got some runners to pick some things up in Thedas. Figured it was... fitting, given the nature of our guests.”

The next few minutes were spent in tense silence as you waited for your friends to arrive. When a guard finally burst through the door, announcing their presence, you quickly stood, heart jumping at the prospect of seeing them again and feeling safe. You had grown soft in your absence, because in Thedas you didn’t have to constantly fear for your life from the very people who were sworn to protect you. At Skyhold, you had a dozen people by your side, ready to come to your rescue or sit with you when you were upset, but in New York, you had nobody but Ivy for all those years. Dorian came into view, then Bull and Sera and Pam and Cullen and Ivy. Sera rushed over, almost knocking you down when she wrapped lanky arm around you.

“Long time, no see, Boss,” Bull said, taking the seat across from you.“Hopefully that bandaged arm isn’t anything to be concerned about.”

You shook your head, smiling when Dorian and Pam greeted you as they took their seats as well. “No, it’s—”

“(Name),” Anthony hissed, the edges of his voice threatening. “ _Hush._ ”

Everyone tensed out of the corner of your eye, and then you noticed Cullen still standing, leaning his arms on the back of Pam’s chair.

_Goddamn it, Cullen. Just sit down. Please._

“Cullen,” the man next to you drawled, “come over and have a—”

“I’m perfectly fine right here, thank you,” the blond said, voice clipped and even.

You lifted a glass to your lips to hide a gleeful smile (despite the anxiety clawing your chest) at the look of surprise on Anthony’s face. He was so used to being spoken to with reverence that he forgot there were people who didn’t fear him.

“But,” Cullen continued, walking around the table, “I’ll sit. For _(Name)._ ”

The other man cocked his head, probably calculating how much of a threat the Commander posed. Plus, he never was one to "share his belongings".

Fingers brushed against the back of your hand, and you turned to find Cullen, an elbow propped up in the table and a palm covering his eyes. When you laced his fingers with yours, you relaxed, the simple touch immediately bringing you safety, because you knew that he wouldn’t let Anthony hurt you.

The rest of the dinner continued on much the same, with passive aggressive jabs being thrown from both parties and you on the edge of your seat just waiting for a fight to break out. Bull and Sera were the only ones that really ate, everyone else too on-edge to harbor an appetite.

Anthony finally dismissed everyone and fled from the room, and only then could you breathe. Questions and revelations were immediately hurled your way. Something about Anthony having a way for you to get home (the Eluvian, of course, but they didn’t know that) and wondering what you had seen.

Cullen was the one to pull you aside and ask how you were doing.

“I am fine. Just… this is all very painful. Being back here, with him again.”

A thumb brushed across your cheek, and you frowned at the pallidness of his skin. “You do know that as long as I’m here, he will not touch you, right?”

You nodded, took a deep breath to gather your strength. “Are withdrawals bothering you?”

“Unfortunately, but without my tonics I have to fight through it.”

“I believe in you, if that helps.”

He beamed at you, color brushing the apples of his cheeks as he smiled. “That—yes, that helps immensely.”

And then you knew. Absolutely, positively knew that you had _fallen for him._

Dorian strode over and placed a hand on each of your shoulders. “I hate to break up your little… whatever this is, but we have to find out how Anthony’s men have been travelling between worlds. That’s our ticket out of here.”

You clicked your tongue and motioned to your bandaged arm. “And I know how they’re doing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo this was a wild ride! protective cullen (and everyone else, of course) is my favorite thing in the entire world
> 
> lemme know what you think and all that jazz!!


	32. Braving the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, and Cullen's addiction reaches its peak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have about ten chapters left and I'm not ready for this to end. Also, a quarter of this chapter is straight up porn so there's that.

“This is how they travel? How did Anthony even _get_ one of these?”

You shrugged your shoulders at Dorian and sighed, surveying the room. “He said he got it from an old friend.”

Pam gasped and turned to the mage, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think that’s the elven god he talked about in his journal?”

“Definitely,” he said with a single nod of his head.

_Wait, they got Anthony’s journal?_

You decided against asking questions. You could do that later. For now, however...

“We need to get out of here before Anthony comes back,” you said, making the first move to head toward the door.

“What? Now?” Dorian hissed, grabbing your hand. “Inquisitor, this is our ticket out of here.”

Pam stayed silent for a moment, observing you. “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but felt every lie die inside your throat. It wasn’t that you were afraid of him. No. You were afraid for your _friends,_  should Anthony decide to put them on his shit list. Those people were usually found face-up behind a garbage bin in an alley somewhere.

Almost as if reading your thoughts, Dorian rested a supportive hand on your shoulder that silenced swirling nervousness. “We’ll be fine, Inquisitor.”

“You don’t even have your magic anymore.”

The mage chuckled knowingly. “Trust me, friend. I don’t need magic to kick the ass of an egotistical twat.”

The three of you shared a much-needed laugh, but you still pulled them out the door and back to the dining room.

Anthony arrived a minute later, the same elven woman from earlier trailing behind him.

“Sweetpea, pack your things. I suggest you get your friends ready, too. We’re going to Skyhold,” he said, simple as talking about the weather, taking a seat at the table to finish his cold dinner.

Cullen opened his mouth to say something, but you rested a hand on his arm and muttered, “Not worth it. Let us go.”

A few hours later, after changing back into Thedas clothes (Anthony and Ivy and Pam, too) and gathering missed possessions, you met in front of the Eluvian. Anthony spoke to the elven woman under his breath, in a language you didn’t recognize, before she opened the portal and stepped back to allow passage.

The same dizziness swept through you as the in-between world came into view, a wrongness that you would never get used to. Thick fog dissipated, and you were finally able to see your friends.

“So, Anthony,” Dorian began, tone tinged with malice, “how did you know an Eluvian would lead to Skyhold?”

“Corypheus,” he answered, simply.

“Can he access this area?”

Anthony chuckled. “Not if I have anything to do with it. He doesn’t have the knowledge to open them, anyway.”

“That’s a relief,” Bull muttered beside you.

“Sweetpea, come open this.”

You sighed, dreaded the inevitable pain to come at overworking the still-tender Mark, but stepped in front of the Eluvian anyway. Sharp pain sliced through your palm and up your arm as everything bathed in a green glow, and you grit your teeth to keep from crying out as the edges of the world seemed to shift around you. Weakened legs collapsed as the glass swirled and twisted before you. Bull came to your aid, allowed you to lean on him until you gained your strength back and were able to walk through on your own.

Everything felt normal again. Like you were where you belonged. Your friends seemed to take a calming breath as well.

“Home sweet home,” said Bull, hand resting softly against the small of your back when he saw you start to sway. “You alright?”

“Just overworked is all,” you assured him with a weak smile.

You weren’t lying. The past few days had been overwhelming at least and unbearable at best, and you tried to assure yourself that yes, you could get through this and yes, you would find your happy ending, but some higher power was making it difficult for you to see the silver lining in the situation.

Skyhold was bustling with soldiers and merchants and townsfolk. Many greeted you with a _welcome back, Inquisitor._  Your ability to respond reduced to a simple nod of your head.

Dorian left to retch into a nearby bush, and Ivy approached you, coat pulled tight around her shivering form.

“So, this is where you’ve been the past year?” she said, nodding to the busy surroundings over her shoulder.

You nodded your head, unable to hold back tears as a fierce wave of safety washed over you. He couldn’t hurt you here. A relief, the freedom to walk around and speak as you pleased without fear of punishment.

But he still had violated your home, the sanctity of a place you thought his darkness couldn’t touch.

* * *

Seeing Anthony at the head of the war room table made you nauseous. Cullen had called a meeting once everyone settled in and Dorian adjusted to his magic, so there all of your companions stood, waiting to hear his grand scheme.

Everyone _but_ Cullen.

“Does your commander usually miss important meetings?” he asked you, tone flippant and mighty, as if he saw you as nothing more than a bug in his home.

The way he tried to command the room, to take your place as Inquisitor infuriated you. You had worked hard and long to prove yourself worthy, and there he stood, trying to envelop everything that you stood for. He reminded you of a black hole, inhaling anything you cared about and taking it for himself.

_He won’t hurt you here, unless he has a death wish._

You found your voice.

“You are in my home now.” You rounded the table and approached him. “Move.”

His brows shot up and he laughed appreciatively, the sound like grating metal against the tense silence of the room. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, felt the air charge with electricity, and you looked over to see the tip of Vivienne’s staff glowing, a deep set in her jaw. Anthony noticed it, too, for he quickly backed around the table to where you previously stood and allowed you to stand at the head. Pam gave you a small nod of pride, and you took a deep breath.

“So, to make it quick, my party and I found a lake with a rift inside. It pulled us through and when we came out on the other side, we were in my world. Anthony has previous, uh,” _damn, what’s that word,_ " _dealings_ with Corypheus, and told us that he would help us.” You nodded in his direction to prompt him to speak, and he gave you a leery wink.

“As our Inquisitor was saying, Corypheus still trusts me. I say we give him what he wants.”

“He’s two fruits shy of a fruit basket,” Sera muttered scandalously.

He continued to explain his plan. Let Corypheus think he had won, only for you to beat him at his own game, with his own possession. The Orb.

Solas interjected for a moment, what looked like barely suppressed worry on his face. “If you’ll excuse me, I don’t think it is wise to subject the Mark to that much power.”

“Then what would you suggest?” Anthony asked, tilting his head curiously.

You saw the clench of Solas’s jaw from where you were standing, and decided it best for you to interject. “I agree with Solas, but this situation is dire.”

“It will _kill_ you, Inquisitor.” At the break in his voice, you turned to study him, mouth opening but unable to say a thing as he pleadingly held your gaze.

“Leliana, I will need mages. They can supply me with enough power so I do not need to exert myself past my breaking point.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

You wrapped up the meeting and said goodbye to everyone, left alone with Solas. He paced across the room, so unlike him that it scared you.

“Solas, are you—”

“You are making a mistake, Inquisitor.”

“I might be.”

“No, you _are._ ” The hiss in his voice made you step away, your back hitting the war table. “It is unwise to toy with magic you do not understand.”

“Anthony has done plenty of research,” you argued.

He huffed, ran a palm over his forehead, and said, “I am sorry, Inquisitor. I tried,” then stepped around you and left the room in a hurry.

Still reeling from the events of the day, Zevran found you on your way to Cullen’s office, Xena happily trailing behind him. He greeted you with a kiss to the back of your hand.  
“Inquisitor, you’ve traveled between worlds and still look as radiant as ever,” he commented, grinning when you tried and failed to force down a smile. “Anyway, I promise I didn’t come here to seduce you, no matter how fun it might be. I was letting you know that my Crows have arrived in your absence and are awaiting orders.”

You shook your head to brush away the fog collecting inside your mind. “Of course. I have something to take care of, but after that, I will come talk to you.”

“I’ll be in the tavern, little dove.”

He strode away, and you lowered yourself onto your haunches, knees aching, to pet an excited Xena. It seemed Zevran had taken care of her while you were crossing worlds and outsmarting your enemies, and for that you would thank him when you next spoke.

“Go play with the other dogs while I take care of something,” you told her, watched as she bounded off happily to the stables.

When you approached Cullen’s tower, there was no light on under the door. Unusual, considering he worked into the early morning hours. You knocked, worry bubbling inside your chest when he didn’t answer.

The air inside the room felt cool, almost unbearable with your short sleeves and thin leggings. You half-expected snowflakes to start accumulating inside the room from the hole in the roof.

“Cullen?” you called softly, stumbling around the darkness of the room until your eyes adjusted to the small filter of moonlight through the thin windows behind his desk.

“Leave me be,” called a voice above you, sounding weak and pleading.

Instead of speaking, you ascended the ladder and climbed up to the loft. Cullen laid there, pillow over his head, half-naked and skin glistening with sweat. You rushed to his side, placed a cold hand upon his chest.

“Cullen, I’m here,” you whispered, brushed sweat-slick curls from his forehead when he lifted the pillow to stare a hole through you. “Do you need me to get a healer?”

He blinked, gaze far-away and slightly glassy. “No.”

Helpless. The only way to describe the anxiety clawing and burrowing inside your chest.

“I’ve been telling her to leave for hours, but she refuses,” he continued, the blink of his eyes causing fresh tears to fall down his cheeks.

“Who, Cullen?”

He cried in earnest then, sobs racking his chest, and you leaned over him and pressed kisses to his hair, hoping to serve as an anchor of safety like he had been to you. You could barely make sense of his babbling before you realized he was quoting what she was saying to him, and only then did you realize who he was talking about. Amell. The demon who had taken her shape.

“I liked what she did. _It_ did. She made me—”

“No. Do not believe her. Just focus on me, okay?”

He continued to speak, spilling secrets that you would keep quiet about once he was more level-headed. “You reminded me of her. When we first met. I felt… felt eighteen again. Maker, I was so _scared._ ”

Everything fell into place. Everything made sense. His distance, the bitterness toward you. Cullen was afraid you would turn into Amell. The same way you thought he would turn into Anthony.

“It is okay, Cullen. You are safe. I am here,” was all you could say, still reeling from his confession.

* * *

The next few days proved difficult. You appointed Cullen’s second-in-command to take care of his work and moved him to your chambers, where he was closer to both you and your personal healers. Cassandra had come to visit on numerous occasions to collect your completed paperwork, each time worrying over your haggard appearance.

“You need to rest,” she always said. “Cullen needs you at your best.”

“I cannot sleep knowing he is suffering.”

She rested a steady hand on your shoulder. “They say that the symptoms peak before greatly reducing.”

“Do you think we are at this... peak?”

“Let us hope and pray.”

You changed bed sheets and fetched water and emptied waste buckets between meeting dignitaries and fulfilling the duties that Cassandra had not shouldered for the time being. On the third day, you awoke from a light slumber to the mattress dipping next to you. When you looked over, Cullen half-sat up, looking around the room as if having just snapped out of a trance. You rolled out of bed and gathered a pre-prepared wet cloth and a glass of water and sat next to him.

“How are you feeling?” you pondered, noting the slight flush of his cheeks and awareness in his eyes, yet held a hand against his back to steady him.

He gulped down the water and handed the glass back to you, and when he laid back and smiled as best as he could in thanks, your heart fluttered.

_Maker, you loved him._

“Better. Still a bit weak…” he tried to stretch his arms above his head and winced, “a bit sore, as well.”

“Your headache?”

“Bearable.”

You nodded your head and offered him the cloth, but he waved it away. “I made a bath for you, if you are able.”

He sighed wistfully, brushing cold fingertips against your cheek. “That sounds lovely. However, I would like to brush my teeth first.”

Getting to the toothbrush you had taken from home, then to the tub consisted of him stumbling and you supporting his weight with an arm slung over your shoulders. He expressed his embarrassment over you having to undress him, but you simply laughed and said it was nothing you hadn’t seen before. When he sank into the steamy water, he visibly relaxed, allowed his head to fall back as you began to rub his shoulders.

“The only products I have here are mine, so you will smell like flowers for a few days,” you told him, pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I quite like your smell, and I guarantee that anything is better than my current state,” he jested, eyes fluttering closed when you began washing his hair, blunt nails massaging at his scalp. “Maker, that’s nice. I may have to fall ill more often.”

“I will kick your ass if you make me worry like this again.”

You hadn’t meant it to sound as serious as it came out, but he fell silent, knuckles white from his grip on the edge of the bath as you washed the suds from his hair.

“You didn’t have to care for me like you did, but I greatly appreciate it.” He tilted his head to look at you, gaze reverent and studying. “You look exhausted.”

You had slept a total of two hours in three days.

“I am fine. Just glad you are okay. Cassandra says that things will look up from here.”

“Cassandra came?”

“Yes. To help me with some things.”

He furrowed his brow. “Maker, have you even left this room?”

“To welcome nobles.”

It was his turn to look concerned, and he turned and cradled your face in hand, thumb ghosting over your bottom lip before slipping between your teeth and over your tongue. A shiver traveled down your spine, and he traced the wet digit over your mouth.

“Do not start something you are not able to finish, Cullen,” you muttered, forcing down the fire beginning to kindle in your belly.

“Who said I’m unable to finish?” he asked gruffly, slowly standing up.

You gulped at the sight of him, golden curls a tangle at the base of his neck, leftover soap suds trailing down his stomach and legs, skin glistening under the warm light of the fireplace. He twitched at the touch of your hand upon his thigh, wound his fingers into your hair, tight enough to feel a slight tug on your scalp. You shuffled forward on your knees, lips almost ghosting against his twitching length before you stopped yourself.

“Are you sure?” you pressed. “If you are not able—“

“(Name). Please.”

You blinked up at him and pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of his cock, then a long lick to the underside of the head when you grew bolder. He groaned, never ceased eye contact, fingers pleasantly painful in your hair.

Fear crept into the back of your mind. Not because of him, but of not being able to please him like you wanted so desperately. He deserved to be happy, and you vowed yourself to give it to him. You would tear down both worlds yourself if he were to only ask.

He gasped when you took him into your mouth, braced himself with a hand on your shoulder before you pulled back and offered to move to the bed. He begrudgingly agreed, finally able to walk by himself. The astonished look on his face when you undressed on the way over to his reclined form and settled yourself between his legs on the bed almost made you laugh, but you had a mission to carry out.

You tried again, found yourself more comfortable with the soft bed sheet under your knees, found yourself blushing under his hungry gaze. Cullen reached down, pulled your hair away from your face, and canted his hips upward as you took him between your lips again. You hummed at the salty taste of him, dragged your nails down his thighs. Eased almost all of his cock into your mouth and fought back a gag when he entered your throat.

“Maker’s breath, yes,” Cullen whispered shakily, groaned low in his throat when you began bobbing your head.

One hand encircled the base of his cock while the fingers of the other massaged his balls.

“(Name), look at me, please,” he panted, and you made to pull away and obey but he held you in place with the tightening grip on your hair. You managed to look up at him, eyes wide and watering, lips stretched around his girth. He brushed a fingertip against your cheek. “You’re so beautiful like this, sweetheart.”

You wondered if he saw a glimpse of someone else for a moment and needed assurance, and you took it a step further. You removed your touch and rested them on the bed, an act of submission. He allowed you to pull away then, seemingly confused.

“I trust you, so do what you are comfortable with,” you explained.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded and took him back into your mouth, inhaling deeply through your nose. His hand drifted to your head yet again, hips surprisingly gentle in their movements. The slow drag of him across your tongue, his taste, the cries of pleasure he made intoxicated you. Here, you could not mistake him for anyone else because you were enveloped by him. His scent, his taste, his skin. For a short few minutes, the room fell into silence, save for Cullen’s moans and your sloppy noises that he seemed to love, if the increasing quickness of his thrusts were any indication. Suppressing the urge to gag grew more difficult, but you knew that being unable to breathe from the cock in your throat only served to make your underwear a wet mess.

He pulled your head back until his length barely touched your tongue, pleaded, “Open your mouth.”

You did as he asked, watched as he pumped his fist over himself. Marveled at the adorable blush on his cheeks and the bite of his lip and the furrow of his brow as he gazed at you, seemingly entranced. His hand fisted painfully in your hair. A ragged intake of breath. The tell-tale twitch of him beneath your tongue. And then he threw his head back and cried out, hips rising from the bed. It had been a while since anyone came into your mouth, and you forgot how much you yearned for that intimacy. How nice it was to finally connect, to cause someone’s climax.

You licked the remaining drops of come from the slit and pulled away when Cullen began to soften against your tongue. Swallowed, managing to suppress a slight wince at the texture. He collapsed against the bed, breathing calm and deep, almost as if he had fallen asleep. You crawled up his body and laid on your side next to him, brushed a stray lock from his forehead. His hair was almost dry, and you twisted a curl around your finger while he ran a hand over your ribs, then your waist, then the swell of a hip.

“Thank you, love. That was…” he grinned, resembled more of himself than he had in weeks, “wow.”

You cleared a sore throat, nuzzled the side of his neck, and wondered how long it had been for him. If the withdrawals had made sex difficult. “We should do this more often.”

A gasp left your lips when he dipped his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and underwear, finger immediately parting your folds.

He groaned and rolled you onto your back, moaned, “Maker, you’re wet.”

As his hands began to roam your body, a knock at your door sounded loudly throughout the room. You both released a string of curses and made yourselves presentable, Cullen hiding under the covers and you diving for your clothes.

Cassandra stood at the door, stack of papers under her arm. “Uh, I…” when she gave you a quick once over, understanding shone in her eyes. You probably looked as thoroughly fucked as you felt, hair a mess and lips swollen. “have these papers for you to look over from Josephine.”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you simply nodded in thanks and took them.

“How is the Commander?” she questioned, voice barely above a whisper.

You felt your cheeks flush, and the woman raised a single brow. “Better.”

A narrowing of her eyes. “I don’t need to know,” she said with a sigh, turning on her heel and stomping down the stairs.

You came back into the room, deposited the papers on your desk with a sigh, and made your way to the bed. Cullen was fast asleep, lightly snoring. _So much for finishing what you started._ Dejected but content, you changed into a nightgown and laid next to him under the covers. The fireplace helped keep the nightly chill at bay, but you curled up against him anyway. In his sleep, he rolled onto his side and wrapped weakened arms around your waist, buried his face into your neck. Soft, steady breath against your skin lulled you to sleep.

* * *

You woke the next morning feeling rejuvenated, confused when you couldn’t feel him next to you.

“Cullen?”

“I’m over here, love,” called a voice, and you turned to find the man peeking his head out of the bathroom, comb in hand and hair slightly wavy. “I hope you don’t mind that I got Cassandra to bring some of my things over.”

Hm. Not a bad idea at all.

“Why not bring all of it?”

He stared at you for a second before he dropped the comb, and you watched it clatter to the floor, stifled a laugh when he floundered to pick it up. “Um, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I want you to. Unless you do not—“

“Maker, no, I do! I just,” he sighed in frustration, brought a hand to the back of his neck. “I’m terrible at this… talking thing, aren’t I?”

Both of you sat in silence for a moment before you finally said, “I will make room for your things if you decide to bring them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be somewhere else that isn't here bc sweetpea x cullen will be the death of me.... hope u enjoyed though!!! (◕‿◕✿)


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